Bless our puke buckets.
Two days ago if you had told me I would be posting on Christmas, I would have nodded with a smile, dreaming of some lovely tribute to my Daddy or a poetic word picture of how Jesus came for the brokenhearted. But it was not to be.
Instead, I offer you Pukeapalooza 2014.
It started with small fry.
There I was, innocently dreaming of Christmas brunch when Maddie coughed ever so delicately. It was just as I turned to give her my “Aren’t you so cute?” face that the most unholy spew came forth. (It seemed I had forgotten that puke with an infant might as well be called The Unexpected Exorcist.) I tell you, nothing was spared…not the floor, not the daddy, not the mommy, not the bed and I’m pretty sure not the place we won’t find until a week later because someone will say, “What is that smell?”
Even so, I tried to convince myself it was an isolated incident as I fell asleep at 2 a.m. until I heard the pitter patter of 9-year-old feet at 2:01 a.m.
“Mom, I feel sick…”
“Oh, um…hold on, sister.”
Whereupon I padded downstairs and back up again, realizing all over again that I HATE LEGOS, still wincing as I said, “Here’s a puke bucket…so sorry, honey… back to your room…”
This time, I fell asleep for another ten minutes when all of a sudden, I heard not a clatter but a familiar coughing by my head…
Cue another unholy spew right by my bed and into the blessed puke bucket.
An incident that left me to wonder if we had created some unhealthy attachment issue if our 9-year-old had to be centimeters from me in order to puke. But then I realized that issues needing future therapy take a backseat to puke. So I hunkered down, grabbed the Lysol and readied myself.
Eight hours later I was convinced it had been contained.
I even sent the 3 bigs out for some errands with Daddy so I could catch up on the present wrapping and Christmas Eve plans. Church may be out. But I was bound and determined to salvage something…maybe brunch, even?
And then the phone rang…
“Drew just puked all over the floor at Rimmy Rohns.” (Names were changed to protect the innocent.) “I’m pretty sure we traumatized the poor high school kid running the register…”
“For the love…” I said, “Just leave the food and come home…”
I was interrupted with “Honey, I gotta go, more is coming out of him!”
God bless us, everyone.
It was minutes after my crew came back, I found said puker by his bed doing what pukers do best. And for a kid that had just caused havoc at Rimmy Rhons, it seemed like an awful lot of, um, output. So when hubs came in I asked, “Did you let him eat?”
“What? The food was already paid for!”
Now at this point, I could continue to give a blow-by-blow but I realize that most of you are actually eating your Christmas brunch so I will simply leave you with this…
Life brings life.
Messy, unpredictable, hilarious and even devastating life.
And really, isn’t that why Jesus came? To be love to the whole messed up lot of us? To carry us, hold us and sustain us even when we are making a giant old mess all over the place?
Jesus came, friends.
He promised He would and He did.
So that no matter what we are facing…
Be it the good, the bad or the ugly…
We know He will come.
And let’s be honest, that’s way better than brunch.
Now it seems I have someone standing stark naked next to me with a wipe.
So that will be all and to all a good night.