Parenting Remains Gross but Hilarious. Mostly.

Parenting Remains Gross

I share this story not to remind myself someday of the pile of puke I faced at one o’clock in the morning on a stormy in-between-Monday-and-Tuesday. I won’t forget that easily.

No, I share to remember how I came to know about said pile of puke. Because who knew that learning your oldest son vomited on the floor in the middle of the night could cause you to laugh just as hard as you gagged while cleaning. Who. Knew?

I heard the rain first. The rain started just as I slipped into bed at the totally respectable #adulting time of 11:30. Always a good patient, I took my sleep medication and waited for the Sandman to come. But then, not even an hour and a half later, I heard the rain pouring loudly.

I don’t normally wake up an hour and a half after taking my sleep medication. It’s hard to wake up eight hours after taking my meds, let alone so quickly. I figured I must have just consciously missed some thunder and closed my eyes.

Only to have hot breath on my face in the next second.


LittleBrother stood THISCLOSE to my face. The sound of his door opening must have been what woke me up. I opened my eyes, the house still dark.

“Yes, Booey?”

“I need to tell you something.”

It’s one o’clock in the morning. What could this kid need to tell me right this very second?

“What is it?”

“Well, you see. It’s about my brother. He did something.” A lengthy pause ensued. “About a game. He did something with a game.”

Child, are you freaking kidding me? You woke me up, disturbed my already hard-to-get sleep, to tell me about something your older brother did with a game earlier in the day? Deep breath. Don’t lose your cool. It’s the middle of the night.

I pulled him in close.

“Buddy, you’re just talking gibberish. Go back to bed. You’re asleep.”

I finished the hug, pushed him away, and closed my eyes again.

Then I heard the light flick on in the boys’ bathroom. Then some spitting.

You know the spitting I mean. It’s never good to hear spitting at a toilet in the middle of the night.

“What’s going on,” I half-hollered, half-mumbled from my bed.

“I’m just cleaning myself up,” BigBrother half-hollered, half-mumbled back.


“From what?”

“I threw up.”

I tossed back the covers, walked into the bathroom, and looked into the toilet.

No. Vomit.

“Bud, where did you throw up?”

“On the floor where I was sleeping in my brother’s room.”

I walked into the room, the smell overwhelming me before I even got there, to find LittleBrother back asleep in his bed; he had to step over the giant pile of puke to get back into bed.

I sighed.

I instructed BigBrother to brush his teeth and go to his own bed after making sure he felt okay and didn’t have a fever. I woke LittleBrother and send him to my bed. I took the dog’s towels and scooped puke. For a second, I thought I might rinse the puke out of the towels, but decided they belonged in the trash.

Then I Googled how to use our Little Green Clean Machine. The site I landed on involved lots of pop-ups which involved lots of cussing by me. I cleaned up the stain on the not-all-that-dark carpet. I put Purify in the diffuser. I took the puke towels, a pillow caught in the fray, and the rest of the trash out to the curb in the pouring rain. I washed my hands, changed my pajamas, and climbed into my bed.

Which was approximately eleven billion degrees because prior to this sleep-walking-and-talking event, I told LittleBrother that the only thing he did in his sleep was sweat.

He’s now really excited that he not only talks in his sleep like his dad and brother but that he walks, too.

I slept on the couch. Parenting, man.


Fitbit Flex Activity + Sleep Wristband


PokeParenting with Pokemon
I’m not always a good mom.

I’m not always a bad mom.
I’m mostly just a mom.

But right now? I am the coolest mom.

I downloaded Pokemon GO before the boys got home from vacation in early July. I’d read some of the hype on Twitter, and figured I should check out the app before they got home and begged me for it. I checked it out. I walked around the yard. I waked up to the church at the end of the neighborhood which happens to be a PokeStop. Squirtle got away.

And I got hooked before the boys ever made it home.

I downloaded the app for both boys on their non-phones as soon as they got home. I turned on my phone’s HotSpot, and off we went for a PokeWalk.

Since I had been playing for a few days on my own, I knew a whole lot more about the game than they did. I also knew a whole lot more about Pokemon than when they first left for vacation.

I mean, BigBrother has been talking my ear off about Pokemon for three or so years now. Talking. My. Ear. Off. I didn’t understand a single word he said either. Pokemon became a thing after I’d already left for college. My much-younger brother got into it, which gave me all the more reason to think it was something totally stupid. So when my oldest son decided Pokemon was all the rage, I couldn’t seem to climb on board.

But still, he talked. He tried to explain the card game. I didn’t understand, but totally grabbed a billion and one cards on Amazon for one Christmas. He asked me to watch the cartoon with him, and I did, but in that way that parents watch cartoons which they don’t understand—somewhere between the living room and the happy place I go to when I need to get away.

When he talked, I nodded in all the right places. I interjected sometimes, asked appropriate questions. But apparently my son inherited my Bullshit O’Meter, because he knew I was’t really there. In it. With him. You know.

But now?

When he talks about fire type and CP and evolution, I know what he’s talking about—and he knows it. He asks to take PokeWalks. He asks me if I’ve caught any new Pokemon when we’re apart. He captures Pokemon in the drive thru when I’m paying the cashier. We talk about it when we’re sitting on the couch.

We talk.

And I’m there. With him. I understand. And he knows.

I hope this continues.