A Pukey Valentine's Day?

I guess that may as well describe it.  The Captain is gone.  We have about 3 more inches of snow and enough wind to go with that there is no school today.  And Princess Maren did quite convincingly manage to puke her delicate little guts out Saturday.  Poor thing.  She is much better today, so that is a good thing.  How much more vomit could a five year old (or her mother) handle?

I don't mean to sound bitter about the Captain being gone.  Being a pilot's wife for the past 9 years or so, I don't take much stock in celebrating holidays on the actual day that everyone else does.  We have plans for a lunch date at the Blue Mountain on Tuesday and I can already taste my Champagne and Huckleberry Vinaigrette salad (and guess what honey, I am going to have the salmon with it this time - aren't you proud of me?) It really is OK by me.  And considering the puking and the weather, we probably wouldn't have been able to do much this weekend anyway. 

Puking...seems like I have had my share for 2010.  I know, why write about this.  Baloney can do poo, so I am going to do puke.  Being a nurse, I have had my share of experience with it in general.  I really do hate it when the girls get the pukes.  I felt bad because Princess Maren told me her tummy hurt Saturday morning, and I didn't quite believe her.  This is usually her go-to excuse when she doesn't want to clean her room or pick up the basement.  Then she headed to the toilet and let her rip.  Poor thing.  So I did the mommy thing.  Held back her hair so she wouldn't get puke in it, held the cool washcloth to her forehead, and valiantly tried not to puke myself.  I managed to hold it back.

My dad also had the upchucks recently. He was in the ER, waiting for some test results and I swear I could hear it coming up from his toes.  He puked so hard he lost his dentures.  Really.   Lucky we had one of these.

These are great!   No need to have good aim, and everything is nicely contained.   Unfortunately the dentures floated to the bottom and I had to use some creativity and the large ER "hopper"  to retreive them.  These bags have revolutionized the nursing practice.  No more of these little numbers.

Seriously, whatever emesis you would be trying to catch would go down one side and up the other or would inevitably get spilled in all the hubbub of  your patient tossing their cookies.  The only thing these are good for is holding a patients tooth brush, tooth paste and lotion.  The end.

I think I am going to take some of those emesis bags home from work with me.  Marissa went to bed last night saying her tummy hurt.  I took her seriously and laid out a towel and the barf bowl by the side of her bed.  Wasn't taking any chances.

So if you were looking for a sweet lovey dovey Valentine's Day post, ya got the wrong blog. But if you are looking for a practical way to contain vomit - well, here you go.

Old Dutch Cleanser ... Updated Version

Really, why do I do it? Talk about an exercise in futility. After taking it easy last Tuesday - I am back to the usual routine. My house is clean, but why, why bother? My bathroom, 2 hours post spotlessness is now nicely encrusted with a layer of slimy toothpaste slithering down the sink ala Princess Maren. Floor, once freshly Swiffered is now tracked with soap scummed footprints from Sweet Marissa in search of a book to read while bathing.

I must have enough of that weird Dutch gene that finds fulfilment and calling in keeping her house clean. Mind you, I am not obsessively clean. This is coming from someone who in high school came home to her clothes being thrown out her bedroom window onto the roof of the garage by her father. His threat was not an idle one. (I am, by the way, keeping that one in the arsenal for future use with our girls.) I did not keep my room very clean at all in high school. Who knew what sort of disease and pestilence spawned in the nether-regions under my bed. So, to have made it this far is some sort of small miracle. I do find myself in a much better mood when my house is clean.

So the Captain and I were chatting on FB and we got into a discussion about toilets. I know! There should be better things to chat about. But, a nurse can talk about most any bodily function and fluid it might involve without too much pause, and then go eat her lunch. We often talk of these things in our household. But, the Captain was saying they have these really cool toilets in Japan that are heated, give you a nice little cleaning - if you get my drift, and then play a cute little flushing song when you are through. He thinks there may be a market for that in the US. When the Captain is not being the Captain, he is really Professor Gadget. The man has an imagination. Naturally, I had to Google it and YouTuble it.


He was right! There are all sorts of YouTube videos heralding the praises of the Japanese toilets. I saw only one thing that could be improved upon and that would be a self cleaning option, ( not the human, but the actual toilet) now that would be glorious. And then I found this.



Will wonders never cease!! Now if the Captain could market this in the US, all us crazy Dutch women in NW Iowa would go out and buy one and single handedly save the US economy.

Singing Sunday Morning Songs

Here's a good Sunday School memory (not sitting on the Pot, just the song), with just a little bit of Princess Maren flair and flourish at the rear end (no pun intended). Yes, we were potty training at the time (note the Big White Round One in the background) and I was desperate to do anything to keep her there a little longer. Glad those days are over, but look what came out (no pun intended) of those somewhat frustrating days. Happy Sunday!

She is Something Else...

I want to tell you about our Sweet Marissa. Seems like I have blogged on and on about Princess Maren, but Marissa is something and someone else entirely...

Sweet Marissa is our first born and I remember when they put her in my arms the first time, I felt I completely recognized her. My first thought was, "I know you." Maybe it was because we had spent so much time alone together while we were waiting for her to be born. I read "Goodnight Moon" and "I'll Love You Forever" to my bulging belly every night (or morning if I happened to be working the night shift). The Captain (known then only as the Lowly First Officer) had just started flying commercially and was gone a lot with training and long trips on bad schedules that no one else wanted. We kept each other company. Even now, there is a part of her heart and a part of mine that are the same. I know that part of her.

She is not a girly-girl, but rather takes some pride in being a bit of a tomboy. She is barefeet and mudpuddles, a lightning bug catcher, a cicadia shell collector, dressed in ripped blue jean cutoffs and t-shirts, all wrapped up in a hefty dose of good old Iowa black dirt. Not that she isn't girly-girl material. She has the most beautiful green eyes (her Daddy's) and hair that would make Jennifer Aniston jealous even on her very best good hair days. She just isn't interested.

She thinks that bathroom jokes are the best and often announces quite seriously, with a giggle attached, that she has to "go associate with the big white round one" when nature calls. This is also inherited from her Daddy, I am sure. Not too giggly about the boys just yet and her boyfriends are really still just boyFRIENDS. She loves school, maps, reading, the Newsboys, swimming, her new cousin Lizzy, her dear friend Abby, and maybe, every once in a while, her little sister Maren.

The one thing that really sets Marissa apart is her BIG heart. This is the part that made her cry when we were leaving my mom and dad's the other day. I was backing down the driveway and heard her leave out a big sob. " I really wish Grandpa could walk better. It just makes me so sad. " My dad has Parkinson's disease, and although his teetering, stuttering walk is all she has ever known, I think her sensitive heart knows that things are getting worse and won't be getting better. This is also the part of her that indignantly claimed she was going to grow up to be the "King of China" so they would stop being mean to baby girls there, after hearing in Sunday School that little girls in China are not wanted and left orphaned or worse simply because they are not boys.

She has the gift of empathy. I hope she always has the bravery and spirit to use it. Empathy can leave you a little lonely and misunderstood if others just aren't feeling the love like you do. She is our Sweet Marissa and she really is something else.