Don't look and it won't make you sick

Listening to: Austen's awesome Guilty Pleasure disk

Zeke's passed out now and I'm having a glass of merlot, watching the kitchen vibrate with the convulsions of the washer's spin cycle. My poor little man seems to have come down with whatever had Lilly laid out during Marni's birthday party; we were 5 miles out from my parent's house and 10 miles from home when his crying and whining was interupted by the unmistakable sound of a child upchucking. It was about the same place in Colorado Springs where the last child puked in my car. I took note and wondered why that particular part of Colorado Springs is unusually nauseating; if you ask me, the whole damn town should elicit emesis from even the most iron constitution.

This on a night when the temperature settled into single digits, the wind whipping in viciously and savagely. Opening car windows to vent the stench baked by blazing heaters was not an option, despite the "Ooooh, stinky," declarations by the girls. Cops be damned, I pressed on the accelerator and made haste for home.

As soon as we pulled into my driveway, I pulled Zeke out with the carseat and carried the entire bundle into the house, straight to the bathroom, unbuckled him from his seat and placed him in the tub, directing him to get out of his puke-soaked pajamas. Quickly, I got the girls out of the car then returned to Zeke, filling the tub while I collected his soiled clothes, stripped the cover off the carseat, and prepared for a cleaning spree I had not anticipated. As Zeke soaked and the girls settled into bed (the angels knowing it best to lay down without protest while daddy spun madly at the fiasco), I made it back to the car to wipe the backseat clean. Fortunately (for me, not so for Zeke), the puke was mostly confined to Zeke and his carseat which meant I didn't have to stomp around for long in the ungodly cold Colorado night.

It's going to be a long night. Although my sad little man has managed to make it to the toilet for the most part (though, with terrible aim), there's still much to be done. My ruthless single dad efficiency is only so effective, moreso than a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol but less than I need to spend the time writing that I wanted. Then again, it's the second day of spring and I hoped for better than single-digit temperatures and bloody snow.

So nothing's worked out the way I wanted, at least tonight. I'll pour myself another glass of merlot and then set about scrubbing and disinfecting the carseat, cleaning the toilet, waiting for the dryer to finish so I can set about bringing some order to this chaos. Considering I'm suffering through a nasty bout of bronchitis myself, I can say the silver lining in my own malady is that my immune system is in overdrive and I'll avoid the puke bug, whatever it is. Zeke will be back to being my Little Buddha by tomorrow and the snow will be gone by Saturday.

That's the lesson of a single dad: count your blessings, keep your eyes on what needs to be done immediately, and remember, what's awry now will be alright tomorrow.