Friday: Morning, Noon and Night

Friday morning I met my friend Ashley at Costco.  I had to pick up our Christmas cards and she wanted to exchange something that was a Santa gift for her oldest daughter while I distracted her 4-year-old twins so they wouldn't see what was going on, lest come Christmas morning they see what Santa left for big sis and exclaim, "But you got that at Costco!"  We completed our Costco shopping/exchanging and decided on lunch.  While eating, Luke took too large a bite from his hot dog and that sensitive gag reflex kicked in.  He hasn't thrown up for a long time from a gag, he has learned to control himself enough to finish chewing and swallow it down, but I could tell this one was going south. 

The only phrase I can think of to describe the oddity of the next few moments is "The Mommy Barf Ballet."  I calmly reached out, caught the barf in my cupped hands, put it on my empty plate as Ashely casually grabbed her package of wipes from her diaper bag and walked around to clean off Luke's face and wipe the few drips that my hands had missed off of the table and floor.  I don't think we even stopped our conversation.  There was no exclamation of "Oh dear!" or "Help!"  No moment of panic or question of, "What should we do?"  It was all so smooth and flowing and natural.  I picture it in my mind with no sound from the actual scene but instead a sort of waltz music playing as we each danced our part in the barf ballet. 

As soon as we got the situation under control we both had a good laugh about how if twenty years ago we had even TRIED to imagine ourselves being so comfortable with children barfing to the point that we know exactly what to do as the moment passes without a thought or a question we would have never believed it, no way.  As a girl who only had a sister, I often think that same thing about my comfort level with naked boys.  At sixteen I would have blushed to know that in 20 years I would be seeing penises unabashedly displayed on a daily basis as the boys get undressed/dressed without concerning themselves with privacy (I think they figure it's just a bunch of boys around here, oh, and Mom, but she doesn't count), forgo closing the door when they use the restroom (I assume that is because closing and opening just takes too much time), or just decide to run around naked because the moment declares it must be done (I mean, sometimes the moment does call for nudity doesn't it?!).

Friday afternoon our neighborhood bread seller (a home schooled boy who bakes loaves to sell to his neighbors once a week for $4 a pop) came to our door.  He had a little friend tagging along.  Daisy Klein.  Or so her collar said.  We weren't sure if that was her name or her owner's name, but considering that the only people we know with the name Daisy are over 80 or under 4, chances were high that the dog's name was Daisy.  She was someone's little terrier who had escaped the confines of her warm and cozy home and was following the delicious smell of home-baked bread.  The boy wasn't sure where she came from, neither was I, and the sun was getting close to going behind the mountains, so it was getting cold.  She was well groomed and obviously loved, so I told him I'd take Daisy Klein in and see if there was a number to call on her collar tag. 

There was, and I did call, with only an answering machine greeting me on the other end of the line.  So the Chaos spent an evening with Daisy Klein.  She was so cute: quiet and curious as she explored the house, unsure about Ruby and Tommy, eager for the attention of Adam and I.  The boys were very excited to have another dog, if only for one night, especially a small one with sweet, sad little doggy eyes.  Only Her Highness, Ruby, was a bit stressed out by the presence of the tiny white usurper dethroning her princesshood for the evening.  Daisy Klein's owners were out most of the evening and got our message about us having their pup when they returned around 9.  They picked her up with apologies and thank yous, which weren't necessary because she had been fun to have around for the evening and we were happy to keep her warm, give her a lot of snuggles, and share a bit of Ruby's food before returning her home (we tried to not feed Daisy Klein, just in case she had a special diet, but she was trying to eat Ruby's food from her bowl, and her well-practiced begging during dinner led us to believe she probably was fed table scraps regularly so we figured it was safe to give her her own bowl of Ruby's salmon meal gluten-free food).

Friday night was the annual Christmas Sweet Exchange with some of my girlfriends.  It was such a fun, yummy night.  We ate treats from chocolate mint fudge to pumpkin spice cookies, almond peppermint white chocolate popcorn to beautifully iced sugar cookies.  And then we talked.  And talked and talked and talked until almost one in the morning.  It was one of those good talking and good eating with good girlfriends kind of nights.  It doesn't get much better than that folks!  I brought Chubby Hubby Bars.  Oh my!  If you like pretzels, chocolate, caramel and peanut butter do try them!  I insist.  Of the large platter I brought filled with them only one-half of one bar was left at the end of the night.  Yummy!