CHRISTMAS WEEKEND

The week was shaping up to be a good one, especially with my year-end bonus in my greedy little hand. I had Wednesday through the next decade off for the holidays. I had been training at the gym with Paul who helped me to lose five pounds and work up to 8 real push-ups in just a couple of weeks. We ordered a new flat-screen tv with free shipping. (who can resist all those year-end sales?!) I took girl-time for myself and went and had coffee and croissants with K, one of my BFFs. My husband was to have Christmas Eve day off and sleep in with me for once. I beat the traffic and lines and crowds and got all my Trader Joe’s and farmer’s market shopping done in time to take a nap and then bake a sweet potato pie. Overall life was good. I had big plans and little complaints. Then came Friday morning: Before the sun was above the horizon I was awakened by  frightening alien-like sounds. I got up and walked to the back of the house, thinking the dogs were being romantically involved or something along those lines.  But as I passed the hall bathroom, my eye caught sight of a small hunch-backed white creature! It was my ten year old daughter vomiting over the toilet in nothing but her underwear. She had peeled off her footed pj’s and went right to work, taking breaks to lay on the cold tiled floor. The vomiting continued for two more hours and she never ate the rest of the day. We got our new tv and  hooked it up in our bedroom. We let her lay in our bed to watch cartoon classics like Betty Boop and Popeye on DVD…for thirteen hours. She was too sick to do much else. Christmas morning I woke up... sick. Her stomach virus had somehow morphed into my body like most illnesses do when you become a mom. Never had diabetes? Anemia? Claustrophobia? Simply get pregnant and you will. By this time my husband realized  he didn’t have the proper antennae for our new tv and since we live in the country we only got half a channel. Plus it was Christmas, so we could forget running out to Wal-Mart. Thus commenced thirteen more hours of cartoon classics. Some of them, like Mighty Mouse’s “Wolf! Wolf!” were ok to watch because I remember actually seeing them on TV in the 80s. It was a nice trip down memory lane. Others, like Hippity Hoppity Hooper made me want to spend more time hanging my head over the toilet. Saturday night, midnight: Our female Chihuahua also gets sick and has a major poop explosion in her crate. As I’m too sick to move, my husband kindly (NOT!) gets up and cleans the mess. Sunday morning: we  awoke to snow, a pure blizzard in N.C. terms, and the roads were impassable. Stuck at home yet again.
 “How much more snow will we get?”
 “I don’t know. Can’t watch the weather channel. The tv doesn’t work. “ (we don’t have internet in our home)
“Oh. Right.”
Silence.
“Back to cartoons?”
“Oh, Jesus, SAVE us!”
My husband’s boss called.
“Just want to let you know the store is open tomorrow. But drive carefully when you come in.” We look out of the window. Birds are flying backwards and then being thrown to the ground by the wind before being swallowed by snow drifts. My daughter, who had been back in those crusty footed pajamas for two and a half days pressed her nose up against the window.
“I feel 100% better, mama.”
“Great, sweetie.” (I don’t)
“Let’s go sledding!”
“Ok, maybe later.” (Wanna watch more cartoons? Felix The Cat is sooo wonderful, yet racist.)
The power flickered on and off and on again. My dad calls.
“How ya’ll doing over there? We got about seven inches too. Pretty nice. Ya’ll got enough food? Yeah, your mama baked a sweet potato pie too. Ok, talk to you later.” Click.
My grandpa calls. This is the longest conversation of them all and I’m starting to think I should go sledding.
“Yeah, grandpa, I bet New York got way more snow than us. No, grandpa, my husband is not watching the game and cheering for the Tarheels. He‘s actually in bed right now watching Porky Pig, but I‘ll tell him you said hello.” Click.
“Come on, kid, let’s go outside.”
No, I didn’t get to sit around a cozy fireplace sipping on spiked punch with friends. I didn’t get to go to the movies and sneak into each theatre to see the new releases like I usually do each Christmas weekend. I gained all my weight back because I couldn‘t even get out of bed, let alone get to the gym and when I stopped puking I ate too much pie. Add to that I’m having nightmares of Tom chasing Jerry. But I did make one heck of a sweet potato pie that my husband showered me with kisses for. (yeah, he’ll be sick tomorrow) I did build a snow man with my little girl and joined her against her daddy in a snow-ball fight. I did eat vanilla pudding (without puking) that her and daddy made together. (and I gained more than I lost) I did play a game with them today while drinking the hot tea my husband fixed me. I did call and check on all my relatives while my husband and daughter played Barbies together. I did spend the weekend with my lovely family inside my warm, safe home. So while I didn’t have the weekend of my dreams, I may have had the weekend of someone else’s and I‘m very grateful for whatever life throws me. Or throws up on me.