Tag Archives: vomit

{SQT} What I’m Taking To The Grave

I’m going through my twice yearly spaz feast, also known as, reorganize the house to distract myself from all that is my life. I’m faced with a glut of presents. Plus, on going home improvement projects designed to make our house less of a death trap to objects that are not in power mobility devices, has created a need to purge all that is not nailed down. Everyone is making sacrifices and preparing bags and boxes for delivery to Goodwill. All will be well for a couple of weeks while I enjoy the small addition of space before rearranging everything again to make room for the cumbersome plastic toys Santa vomits all over my house.

However, despite all my efforts to downsize and declutter, and the three moves we’ve made through the years, some items always make the cut. I often give my husband a rough time because we’ve been moving around from closet to basement to storage space several old video game systems, Transformers, original beat up Star Wars action figures and 20-year-old D&D manuals. But that makes me a dirty, dirty pot because I’ve got my own stash of ridiculous keepsakes that never see the light of day. (Yes, there’s even more to my collection than the lamp and the vase.) You see where this is headed right? This weeks quick takes are a stroll down memory lane brought to you by the letters WTH? and the number seven.

1. My grandmother’s antique dressform.


Every spooky attic in every story of merit I’ve ever read has contained a dress form. I inherited this one after my grandmother died eleven years ago. I can’t figure out how to actually use it but man, doesn’t it look artsy and stuff? Email for rental rates if your first year photography student is interested.

2. A set of Raggedy Ann and Andy candles.I can never, ever burn them! And if the kids see them, they’ll want to touch them or worse, play with them, so into the back of my closet they go.

Me and the candles sharing a private moment.

3. A Crazy Eddy t-shirt. His prices, and this entire shirt, is insane. Unfortunately, the fit is circa. 16-year-old Kelly so I don’t don this particular shirt very often unless I’m fishing for muffin top comments.

Pulled away from the torso to eliminate cling and paired with my own version of the Crazy Eddie face.

4. My tap shoes. I know, it’s just a whole ‘nother side of me you didn’t know existed. I never became a Rockette, but I refuse to part with these shoes, if only to amaze my kids with a little soft-shoe every couple years or so.

I can do a shuffle, flap toe heel combo like you’ve never seen.

5. A pair of purple velvet Doc Martin boots, rivaled in awesomeness by my knee-high white Doc Martin wedding boots. Yes, this Catechism thumping traddy once had a wild side; one that blew her entire back to school budget on a pair of Doc Martin boots. And then, because I hate dancing in high heels, I bought an even more expensive pair for my wedding. Every so often I consider selling them on Ebay, and every time I wind up stroking them in tears saying, it’s okay, mommy didn’t mean it. I still love you. And then I wear them, realize I look like a very uncool thirtysomething in Doc Martin’s and we forget one another for a while again.

One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong. That thing is me. I’m the uncool thing that doesn’t belong.

6. My grandmother’s gaudy costume jewelry. I only wish I had more cocktail parties and black tie affairs to wear this stuff to. Don’t get me wrong, at every church potluck I’m breaking out the bling, but my denim jumper just doesn’t do it justice. But despite the fact that I really can’t pull off wearing it anywhere, I can’t let it go. I keep hoping that because my grandmother was fashionable, that style is genetic and that there is indeed hope for me.

7. My black leather motorcycle jacket. So this one time at band camp…actually, it was on a high school band trip to Toronto I was so convinced that the exchange rate made everything practically free I bought this jacket with all the spending money I had on hand, like, the second day of a week-long trip. And it was hot. The jacket and the weather. I stopped wearing it within a year but I can’t part with it. I tried ebaying it once and when I didn’t get close to the reserve (which was a sentimental $40 Canadian, eh) I decided I’d hold onto it and force one of the kids to be Fonzie for Halloween…eventually.

Look, I’m a Kardashian! Sporting both costume jewelry and the motorcycle jacket.

And this list doesn’t include the bins of old newspapers and 3×5 discs containing every published article I ever wrote during my brief stint as a reporter before launching full time into motherhood or my portfolio of photo school prints, a.k.a. the year of black and white self portraits and deep meaningful stuff I shouldn’t have to explain to you. Is this just me? Please leave a comment detailing frivolous items you hold onto so when I feel the need to either wear or sell my tap shoes, I’ll know I’m not alone in my struggles.

Now that I’ve put everything back in its cryogenically sealed vault, I’m headed over to Jen’s for more Quick Takes. Won’t you join me?


Filed under Humor, Photography, Seven Quick Takes, Things I Love

Take Seven Quick Takes And Call Me In The Morning

If you’re wondering on my recent lack of posting, here’s this week’s Seven Quick Takes quickly produced under duress to bring you up to speed on my lost days spent hiding under the covers, pail by the ready.

1. Friday I was diagnosed with a salivary gland infection or stone.  And because my father-in-law once had stones in his salivary gland, and it had to be removed and something went wrong and he almost died or something, I kept thinking, “If I die, I’ll never see my new kitchen completed!”

2. Saturday brought the joy of  a German festival in my hometown of Lancaster, PA with all the beer, brats and saurkraut you can handle. We came, we consumed, we polka’d and we looked like complete amateurs next to the 80-year-old couple in a dirndl and lederhosen who nearly plowed us down on the dance floor with no mercy.

3. Sunday I got the sneaking suspicion I was succumbing to a slow death by salivary gland infection, before throwing up and having Addie come in our room and throw up. Either Addie’s salivary gland was having sympathy pains or we were dealing with something else.

4. Monday was me laying in bed or on the sofa wanting to die, but not wanting to die because I want to see my finished kitchen.

5. Tuesday I tried to lay around less and that was bad. I told Tony to go back to work, that I would be okay, and I was wrong.

6. Wednesday I really needed to start trying to tackle the rubble left in the wake of my illness.  Apparently, when I’m sick no one knows what to do except let the work back log for me to do when I’m feeling better. I went to the grocery store that night and  I found myself in the pasta aisle thinking, if I threw up right now, would they let me finish shopping, cause, I really need to get food.

7. Thursday I felt mostly normal but becoming quickly overwhelmed with all the school and housework that had accumulated. I became Godzilla in my effort to destroy the Mothra of clutter and made things much, much worse. I was shrieking and waving my arms and the kids were all running from me in terror. Not one of my finer moments.

A salivary gland infection will give you green mouth glow. And yes, my thighs are that big.


Today, I’m not leveling coastal towns quite so much and the radioactive breath has died down considerably. I might even get something done. If your week was great or otherwise, take two, call me in the morning and head on over to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes.


Filed under Homeschooling, Humor, Seven Quick Takes

Twas the night before… My Sick Ode to Clement Moore

Twas the night before Monday, when all through my roost, all creatures stopped stirring once punishments were introduced.

The laundry still hung on the clothesline with care, forgotten by Mama who’d been summoned elsewhere.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, the fun of the weekend still fresh in their heads.

And Papa in his boxers, and I in my sweats,  had just settled down,  blind to stomach upsets.

When across the baby monitor, there arose such a clatter, I sat straight up, my husband exclaimed “What the @*&%# is the  matter?!”

Away to the girls bedroom, I ran like a flash,  found an old trashcan , delivered  bedside with a crash.

Moonlight through the window enveloped the room,  suggesting serenity  and not impending doom.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a trail of  puke flying straight through the air.

My littlest daughter, by day - lively and quick, had succumb to infection and wound up quite sick.

More rapid than eagles her expulsions came. I tried to give directions but she missed the can all the same.

On blankets, on pillows , on dolly and teddy. My sweat-shirt, her nightgown,  it persisted,  fast and steady .

From the top of the bed, to the top of the wall?!,  how to wash away, wash away, wash away it all?

As dry heaves took over, my husband walked in with a sigh. She soon finished vomiting and began to cry.

Off to the bathroom, we walked smelling sour, my husband grabbed paper towels  and began to scour.

And then in a twinkling, I suspected more to come, when after a cry from the boy’s room, my husband took off in a run.

As I threw back my head, an expletive muttered, a long night we were in for, the week’s plans now shattered.

Redressed in clean PJ’s and laid back in her bed, I thought of helping my husband, but ducked under my covers instead.

“He made it to the toilet” was all he expressed, before snuggling beside me and trying to get fresh.

“Go away!”, I recoiled, “Fat chance in hell ! Who knows when they’ll be up again! There’s no way to tell!”

With a shrug of his shoulders, he pulled sheets round his head, and soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread.

I awoke to a child standing quietly bedside, with a pail in his hand, his needs plainly implied.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and filled up the pail, then zonked out with a jerk.

And laying his finger up inside his nose, I tried cleaning his face with my stained bedtime clothes.

Many hours later, this cycle twice repeated, I hoped finally our  jobs as nursemaids was completed.

A virus so merciless, had made me it’s slave. The sleep that we needed would remain elusive ’til  the grave.

Too soon I make out the sun through eyes tired and bleary, as my husband exclaimed “There’s no rest for the weary.”




Filed under Humor

Seven Quick Takes- Under the Weather

I thought the Easter aftermath couldn’t get much worse than two sprained ankles in a single day followed by a sick baby. But unfortunately, because I even let that thought cross my mind, fate laid the smack down on me by allowing a virus to infiltrate my kids. Despite telling myself, and my husband,  repeatedly that the baby’s puking, diarrhea, crankiness and incessant head spinning was due to “teething”  or “demonic possession” we both knew he was sick. And no sooner were his diapers less explosive, than the oldest two fell victim. It’s been non-stop naked Barbies and baby doll tea parties around here now that #1 and #2 are too weak to resist #3. By all accounts, the outlook  is grim.

And so, seven random thoughts on illness and our family.

1. When you have a family with more than one child, you know as soon as one child is sick, the rest will fall like dominos. The fate of your husband and yourself is equally perilous. There’s nothing you can do because despite your best efforts they will cough on each other for fun, give you big sloppy kisses without thinking and fall asleep in your bed for a nap while drooling and snotting up your pillow. And  it’s not like they’re going to start washing their hands on a regular basis now.

2. Children’s medicine comes in several flavors, but children come in only two; flavored medicine lovers or haters. I’ve got one child who loves the bubblegum pain reliever like it’s crack. If his first dose is at 7:48 a.m., he is at my side clamoring for a hit of drugs at 1:47 p.m., bottle in hand with the clack, clack, clack of the child-proof lid muffled in his hands.  I guess I should just be glad I found a way to improve his ability to tell time.

3 .Why does their late night hacking cough wake me up, but not them??

4. A house full of sick kids is great for the grocery budget.

5. My oldest takes a fresh tissue every time she wants to dab at her precious schonze. This results in a massive tissue mound next to her wherever she’s resting. (It’s a huge germ breeding ground! I look and I can see the germs getting all freaky and multiplying right there!) I’m ready to go back to the system I had when they were younger. I called it the “snotty rag” system. It consisted of an old cloth diaper stuck on the top of the toilet tank in the kids bathroom. When ever a cold ran through the house, I grabbed the snotty rag, found a clean corner and wiped noses. When it was green or too stiff to use, I washed it and put a fresh rag on the toilet. At the time, that seemed more sanitary to me than multiple piles of half used tissues throughout the house. The only downside was when family came to visit and needed a tissue. Once I had to buy tissues for the guests, the snotty rag fell out of favor.

6. My kids will stop exhibiting symptoms just long enough for me to assume they are healthy and make plans. But usually after arriving at a friend’s house someone will complicate said plans by projectile vomiting.

7. Having just read the Velveteen Rabbit to the kids, my husband is convinced the next course of action is to start burning toys and bedding.

I hate to wonder what the next week has in store for us. We do love bonfires. How do you manage with a house of sick kids?


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Filed under Humor, Seven Quick Takes