Happy Effing New Year

Yeah, yeah, yeah, happy new year, blah, blah, blah. The year of the rat, I am a rat. I was born on the 8th, it's 2008 and 8 is my lucky number in numerology and tarot. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here is how I spent my day:

The kids had gas. Not just the cute, giggly releases of extraneous air - bad, foul smelling, someone-stuffed-a-rotten-egg-in-their-intestines-peppered-it-with-Red-Hot-dipped-in-turpentine-and-allowed-a-dead-animal-to-light-the-fuse-that-unleashed-the-rankness kind of gas. Poor babies. It didn't help that I drank whiskey sours and vodka tonics like 2008 was another year of prohibition and I had to get my licks (or in this case slugs) in before midnight; like I was in some kind of battle with my sister to see who could drink the most; like it wasn't the last day of one of the worst years of my life (2005 still takes the cake) and I woke up with a pounding headache and queasy stomach expounded by the pong of gases filling my nostrils every time a giggling toddler passed by. Then we had breakfast. My daughter ate like a champ - scrambled eggs, sausage and toast. My son, well, not so well. Poor guy didn't feel that great.

We left my sister's house, after I spent an hour and a half gathering the socks from beneath the mattress, the barbies, cars, toys and books strewn all over the house, showering, dressing the foul smelling children and cleaning off the seven inches of snow that had accumulated over night. We went to my mother's house, where Tony whined and winnied like a mule with a broken back and finally begged me to put him up in the crib my parents still have. I put him up there feeling so bad for him - especially since I had to get him up in less than an hour so we could drive to the airport and get on a plane to come back to Maryland. About thirty minutes after, I went to check on him, he was sleeping soundly. I tiptoed out the door, shut it and heard RAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLPPPHHHHHH! The flu flew in and swooped the rankness of my baby's belly and forced it out the other way... his clothes, the blanket, the wall, his precious puppy dog, the floor, the mattress. I cleaned up his sobbing face, stripped him of his clothes and started over. He wouldn't stop clinging to me, wanted his mama to hold him. Finally, he seemed okay and that was good because we needed to make it to the airport. We got in the truck, I pulled out a ziploc bag just in case and we were on our way. And yep, he did it again but I got it all in the bag, all of it!

We got to the airport, sat at gate 18 where the well-tipped bag checker told us to go and waited and waited and waited. Finally, we heard our names being called over the loudspeaker that they were holding up the plane for us at gate 16. We ran there and just about made it. Of course, there were only middle seats left so I had to get people to move so that I could sit by the babies. I snatched a couple vomit bags on my way down the aisle (just in case). We settled into the flight, I even got to do the crossword in the magazine. I put my head back on the seat for the descent into Baltimore and glanced out the window, seeing the wing come up then go back down then up, then down. I looked at Tony's face, pulled out the vomit bag and feeling a little queasy in my stomach because obviously the pilot was heaving over the steering wheel (or whatever it is they do) in order to make it move so much like a boat on choppy waters. I held the bag under his chin and yep, he did it again. Poor guy was crying and so upset, but I got it all. One hand held the bag over his mouth, the other arm crossed over and reached beneath the seat for wipes. He didn't get a drop on him or his sister. Perfect. He got it out of his system, it was smooth sailing from here on in except for the inebriated pilot making swirly patterns and writing "I was here" in the dark, Baltimore sky. I wiped Tony all up, gave him another puppy to hold onto and rested my head back again. I was thinking that 2008 was going to be my year to shine.

Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllpppphhhhhhhhh! No! Paige was having a go at it (she hates it when Tony gets too much attention!). She got my coat, Tony's coat, my laptop bag (which was unzipped), her shoes and everything else below her. I didn't have a bag ready, but I just happened to glance to my left and saw that the man sitting across the aisle from me was handing one over. Just in time! She filled it, and then half of another. I was out of wipes, and my hands were covered. We landed, I jumped up and got a bag, some towels, washed my hands and fixed everything within five minutes. They were calm and happy.

It took us another 45 minutes to get our luggage, get a bus to the long-term parking lot and begin our journey home. As I drove, Tony went for round three. By this time, I didn't even flinch. Just do it boy, I'm driving. We got in the house and he was fine, laughing and dancing around so happy to be home. When he ran to hug me, I held out my arms and just after squeezing him to me realized that he was full of puke. Great. I also realized that my house was freezing.

The heater down in our basement went up. That's okay right, because I just spent a grand on the upstairs unit last week. But that was 2007. This is 2008.

The way I see it, this is going to be the worst day of the year - I just needed to get it out of the way. Yeah, I see it that way. Or maybe it is just a preview of what's ahead. Whatever, I'll have my vomit bag at the ready and I shall overcome.