Little Miss threw up last night. I sort of lost count, but I’m pretty sure it was 7, maybe 8 times at least. She kept me awake with her sobbing and dry heaving from 11:30 to 3:50 a.m.
She knew exactly when she was done though. After one last gagging spasm, she wiped her pale, puckered lips on her ruffled sleeve and said, “I want to go to my bed now.”
She was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Leaving me, at long last, to fall onto the couch and sleep for all of 3 hours before Mister poked me in the ribs to ask, “Dude. What was going on last night? Is something wrong with Missy?”
Up until last night I was certain that my trip home to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday was well worth every penny, every hassle, every miserable minute spent in transit from here to there and back again. But something about last night—the stealth speed of the attack—its sheer volume and intensity—how does a 3 year old even produce that much vomit anyway?—the comical overkill of each successive assault—“Again? Surely not. There’s nothing left. Surely you must be mistaken. No? Well. Okay then….”—felt like payback, like some sort of cosmic comeuppance for my foolish notions of independence and autonomy.
Welcome home, Mom! Glad you had a nice trip. Now kindly set your bags down, cuz’ we’ve got some shit for you to clean up.
Nice. How very nice it is to be home.
As for the trip itself—the secret—well, after seven long months, the cat is very much out of the bag now, isn’t it?
I’m happy to report that Operation Make Them Pee Their Pants was orchestrated, executed, and fulfilled to absolute perfection, thanks—in no small part—to my two accomplices Skinny Bitch Stace and my brother, The Partial Godfather.
I’m not exactly sure what my eager audience expects of me at this point. A blow by blow account of the week—even just that first weekend of surprises—would be time consuming. Frankly, I’m not sure I’m up to the task—you know?—given my crippling jet-lag, and sickly child, and all like that.
And yet, there are so many moments that should be documented lest they ever be forgotten. La Dragon being puked on by a total stranger during our final descent into Salt Lake, for example. Or the blank nods and terse smiles from the many members of the service industry that first day whom my mother insisted on telling that is was her birthday, and that her daughter, that one there, right! there! flew all the way from Norway to surprise her—ME!—Today! And I had NO idea. NONE! And ohmygod, I’m overwrought. Fetch me another drink! So we did.
Ohohoh! And remember that time during dinner when I was thanking Stace for all the work she did booking limos and making dinner reservations and stuff? And Stace grabbed my hand? And she said, “No no no. It was nothing. Ever since I was the Matron of Honor at your wedding….” And it was about to be a beautiful moment, because my wedding? it really was lovely, and we were about to bond over it or some shit like that. But then a light went on in Nan’s wine befuddled brain, and she pointed a finger at Stace and shouted, “AH! I remember you now! I do know you!” And it was so fucking funny, see? Hilarious. Because they had already spent the entire day together, and it was only just then that she recognized….Nah. Forget it. You probably had to be there. Or at least be drunk like we were.
I’ll tell you what wasn’t funny though. Being dumped out of a rented limo at 1 in the morning, in front of a house which no one had the key to, with a garage door which refused to open, and a bladder full to (I shit you not) BURSTING! That moment? That is a moment I would just as soon forget. But I peed on the neighbor’s lawn, so probably no one will let me. Assholes.
And the next day I got to surprise everyone on my dad’s side of the family. Even after an accidental phone call to Norway (way to drop the ball there Sparky) allowed Elder Miss to tell everyone I was there, they still managed to be utterly dumbfounded to see me standing at the door. A most excellent moment by any standard.
Alas, it is a sad truth that all good things must eventually come to an end. And to that end, it occurs to me that I have washing that needs to be put in the drier. Missy should be roused from her nap. Boy needs fetching from school. And Elder Miss needs help with her homework.