I sit here today wishing to write something profound and exhilarating, but I can't. Not today at least. It is because of what was suppose to be a rare, but celebrated date night on Saturday night, has now turned into a two-day ordeal that leaves me feeling like I'd would have rather bungee jumped off the Empire State Building naked in front of a million gawking eyeballs instead of this.
Date nights between parents are suppose to be a thing of joy and relief since we parents are basically attempting to flee from our kids for a night of coherent conversation and activities that don't included doodling on paper table cloths or breaking up senseless arguments about gum or whose shoelaces are tied better. All while trying not wreck the car while constantly looking in the rearview mirror at your kids smacking one another in the process and yelling "Don't make me come back there!"; which we never do cause we're too busy DRIVING THE CAR!
Saturday night was just that attempt.
All was well until we got home and about 2 am, I am abruptly awoken with searing stomach cramps and an intense urge to pray at the porcelain god in my bathroom. This is where my head stayed firmly planted until sometime Sunday afternoon. The measurement of time is completely useless during one of these moments.
It seems there were little entities in my stomach that kept analyzing the contents and deciding that this could stay (meaning the lining), and this had to go (everything else BUT the lining). The protective guardians of my gullet spent the whole stinking night and morning thrusting out, like unwanted roomates, every imaginable piece of food and drink I had consumed the night before in order to save the bottom half of my body the same sufferage my upper half was going through.
"Thank you so much for your consideration regarding my various body parts, but don't you think you guys can thrust this shit out just a little gentler in future next time?"
After the guardians were through cleaning up the damage left behind from what was most likely the "undercooked" Ceviche' at a local corporate fish "grill", then it was time for the headache to set in that had the husband serving up various herbs like an open sushi bar, and me calling the bottle of Advil my bestfriend.
I cannot believe I just made reference to food.
First of all, I should have known better than to eat Ceviche' made from any restaurant.
If you're not at all familiar with Ceviche', it is fish "cooked" in lime juice only. Well, I usually make mine with Red Snapper and cook it for 24 hours in the fridge, but this one was made with Bay Scallops and shrimp and they must have done the quickie version of cooking on this plate - say about four hours before we arrived!
Seeing it made with shrimp and scallops should have been the first clue not to eat, but I was living off of one bowl of Mediterranean cous-cous for the whole day, so hungry replaced common sense instead. So when I bit into that one bite that seemed a little "soft", my alarms bells were muffled by miniature pillows in my head, by the need to devour everything edible on the table in front of me: warm bread with olive oil and fresh ground black pepper, Pellegrino water with lime, and mounds of Ceviche' with warm tortilla chips.
I was not having to compete with kids for ample bites of the stuff; just my husband who managed to give up on it because he kept spilling the juice all over himself and the table. This just meant more for me!
This is one time I will repeatedly flog myself for being such a pig!
So today I am left with the residual affects of food poisoning; not one single ability to do anything but be a couch potato surrounded by kids who last wish in the world is to be a servant to a sick mom who constantly has to change the channel on the TV when a food commercial comes on.
I can't lay here like this; I have cabinets to sand, doors to paint, backsplashes and hardware to pick and order. This cannot interrupt my life today! But it is and there is nothing I can do about it but wait the long and agonizing moment out.
"It has to run it's course.", my husband tries to comfort me by saying.
I feel the strong urge to reach up and pop him one in the head, but the need to maintain composure in front of my kids is stronger.
Must have a sense class between pukes!
Then my oldest daughter's comment not too long ago was: "So mom, I guess you won't be doing any date nights without us any time soon, will ya?"
"Uh, no Nadia...... I didn't barf THAT hard!"