Every night in our house there comes a moment when Jeff and I start jockeying for a free pass on the nighttime parenting rituals. We go back and forth comparing our days: I got up at 5. Well, I had to fly to New York. I got up at two o’clock in the morning to deal with a bed-wetter and had to take all of the the kids for flu shots. But, I had to fire someone and present a powerpoint in front of 500 people. And so on. Whoever is deemed the winner of the “woe is me” awards is the one who can sit out the teeth brushing or story reading or homework assisting.
Last night was a toughie.
I had a fine day: Dropped a smiling Lily off at the bus stop. Worked at Starbucks for most of it and managed to get quite a bit of work done. Ran to Target to buy diapers. Not bad.
He got up before five o’clock in the morning to drive to the airport to fly to Chicago wearing a business suit. Took a train to his office there and had back-to-back meetings for five hours. At the end of the day, he walked four blocks to the train, rode it back to the airport, flew back to DC and drove home, arriving well after eight.
No brainer, right? He wins.
Except that I got puked on upon picking Ben up from school. Like, all over puked on. Down the shirt, seeping into the bra and in my hair. Cheesy, curdled vomit. It was pretty gross.
Guess who won and got to sit out the teeth brushing for some blog writing?
It seems a little puke goes a long way in the house. But, I’ll take it any day over business travel in a suit.