Guys' Weekend

It was going to be a really lovely weekend. I could just feel it deep in my gut. The weather was forecasted to be absolutely grand. We had nothing on the family docket except letting the fresh air quell our spring fever. I had a planned dinner out with friends that had been two months in the works. And when mama has a girls’ night out, well, the boys have guys’ night. So all in all, the plans had all the trappings of a truly magical weekend.

The dinner was delightful. The company was perfect. I could have stayed all night, and I’m certain if I had, we would have solved all the world’s problems.

But I am also certain, had I stayed all night, I would have barfed all over my friends. And that, well, that’s an unfortunate situation to put yourself and your friends in. I made a vow, post a Bikers and Babes party circa 2000, that I would never puke on my friends again. And then, restated that vow circa 2005 after a night of New Year’s mayhem. But the difference this time was that I am a grownass woman and this barfpalooza was not self-inflicted. Because I’d nursed A drink {being singular. as in one.} at the dinner and that was all she wrote.

But it turned out, the feeling I had felt deep in my gut was apparently not the lovelies. It was not the magic of all of the trappings of the weekend. It was puke. And it was ready to party.

I am nearly certain it had to have been food poisoning of some sort but the jury will remain hung on that verdict, I am sure. The pain started around midnight {of course it did, because as I’ve stated time and time again, darkness is a vomit magnet} and didn’t relent until about 5 in the morn. It was legit. Like the stubborn pimple I had my entire 27th year, the belly would not give up. As I told my mother, to say I was violently ill does not give it its due justice. It was a two bowl-er. All night long. I spent the off-minutes switching between the floor in our great room and the floor just outside the bathroom. I told myself all night, in between the heaves, hos, and the gos, you made it through three labors. You are a Wonder Woman. You can do this. Everything is always better when the sun rises. Mind over matter, right? I hoped that each time I bellied up to the bowl would be my last. I lysol’d every single time I clocked out… because I was unsure if it was bad shrimp or a real case of the barfs and if there’s one thing that’s worse than enduring a stomach bug, it’s watching your kiddos and husband bite the dust. Ain’t no mama got time for babies barfing when she’s already under the weather. So Lysol and personal pep talks got me through the long, dark night.

The sun did rise on Saturday, but I did not. I stayed in bed. If you are a mom, you know how horrible you’d have to feel to actually not be able to get out of bed and at least mail it in for the day. But I was wiped. I slept off and on all day. And had several works of art curated and left next to me.

And in my waking moments, I thanked the good lord above for my husband. When I am down and out, he doesn’t miss a beat. And I feel fortunate for that. When guys’ night turned into guys’ weekend, he took advantage of the beautiful day and took the boys to the zoo, to lunch, brought them back for naps, and then did the meal planning and grocery shopping for the week, including grabbing me more crackers to ease my way back into food {no ladies, he is not for hire}. And then, when I was still not 100% on Sunday, he took them to church and let me find my way back to the land of the living.

By the time they got back from church, I had taken on the day by showering, washing sheets, and cleaning bathrooms. I was a warrior! Refreshed! Relaxed! Rejuvenated! And by the time naptime came around, I was completely zapped, once again, and took my own nap along with them.

They rounded out guys’ weekend by making Sunday night Brinner complete with homemade waffles, bacon and eggs.

It was not the weekend I had planned, and I am guessing the hubs would say the same. But rarely do weekends with kids go as planned, I suppose. At least I didn’t puke on my friends and no one else under my roof has bit it to the barfies. So there’s that. I have heard that the weather was, indeed, grand. And I did get a girls’ night out. And guys’ weekend, well, that seems to have gone off without a hitch. Bright spots, bright spots everywhere.