I’ve often joked that God has a sense of humor. But it’s always so much easier to say that when you’re not currently being the butt of the joke. So when Ella crawled into bed with us last Thursday morning- four hours short of when we were supposed to board a plane to NYC for a fun birthday weekend with my mom- and proceeded to tell me that she was going to “spit out,” my first reaction was to blow it off.
“You’re not going to get sick, Bug.” (Only because she’s said it a few times before and we would wait by the trashcan for the elusive “spit” which never came).
“No, but mama- I really am. There’s a rock in my tummy.”
Then the second reaction- denial. {plugs ears} “LALALALALA. I can’t hear you. You’re not sick and we’re still going away to NYC for a much-needed getaway and this is all just going to blow over. You’re so silly- freaking mama out like that.”
And yet, even as I saw her face turn green, as I rushed to grab the trash can and hold it in front of her, I still clung onto every last shred of hope that was still left. She just has a bad burp. No wait…. okay, yeah, she’s definitely puking.
And even still, after she was finished, I found myself camped out in denial and not about to budge. She just ate something last night that didn’t agree with her.
Then more puke.
And more again.
And each time I grabbed the trashcan, NYC slipped further and further away and reality set in– we weren’t getting on a plane that morning.
Jake, clearly unphased by profuse amounts of stomach acid, requested McDonald’s for breakfast that morning, at which point I volunteered (read: practically bolted out of the house in my slippers) to go and pick up. I drove very slowly, in silence, hoping that I’d be able to zen my way into a better place by the time I returned with the food. And yet, I wasn’t as crushed as I had expected to be. I kept waiting for that moment when it would REALLY hit me that we weren’t going. But that moment didn’t come.
The day before we were supposed to leave, I was in a horrible mood I woke up in a funk, and went to bed even funkier. I was having what Ella would call a “terrible awful no good very bad day.” In retrospect, I realize I had been running myself ragged that day- between teaching a few random piano lessons, editing and mailing prints, packing for two adults and two kids for a weekend get-away, laundry, bills, christmas shopping, and tying up a few other loose ends. I came in the door at 7 that night, Little Caesar’s pizza in hand for the kids, and flopped down on the couch. A few week’s of later-than-normal bedtimes and always-earlier-than-I’d like mornings were catching up with me. Add to that the over-abundance of processed foods, lack of daily rhythms, and of course, the mounting heaps of pressure I’m prone to put on myself and I was feeling downright grinchy. I snarled and snapped and bitched and cursed my way to bed that night, even though I had every reason in the world to be excited. Two days and nights without kiddos! Broadway tickets! ALONE TIME! Dinners out and central park and Rockefeller Center and shopping and cocktails and….
…and then, a sudden stop to all of our best-laid (and thankfully “insured” plans). But how could I be mad? It’s not like anyone ever wants to get sick. And yet, it was so eerily well-timed, I had to believe there was a reason why, maybe, it happened that way. Maybe the universe, in it’s own twisted way, knew this was the only way to get me to slow down. Because NYC is anything but slow. Maybe the last thing I needed was to be surrounded by more this, and merry that, and spend here, and line up over there, and run around until your feet hurt.
I think, looking back, that’s maybe the last thing I needed. But I wasn’t going to admit it to anyone- not even myself. Up until practically the very last second, I was still pressuring myself to want it because, for as long as I can remember, I’ve said I wanted NYC at Christmas. But not this time- not on those terms. Not depleted and exhausted and with one (possibly two) sick babies at home. NYC looked different to me ten years ago than it did ten days ago.
So instead, I practically lived in my pajamas all weekend. We watched Christmas movies. We ordered lots of takeout. We drank wine by the fire after the kids went to sleep. I lysoled the living HELL out of my house. I gave myself permission to be lazy. We laid low. I started planning and brainstorming for 2013. And to top it all off, we rescheduled our trip for the week after Christmas. NYC will still be bright and shiny and decorated and all of the things I’ve been told it will be. It will still be alive and bustling and waiting for me.
It wasn’t the weekend that I had initially wanted, but it turned out to be exactly the weekend that I needed. Funny how that works.
The Bug, the Bean {&the Bump} 