Amazing Fluidity of Movement

Todays topic is a bit icky and not one that many people want to discuss, however, it is the subject of much entertainment within our family circle and entertaining for anyone who is willing to listen.   Please read to the end if you are able.  It'll be worth it.

The act of vomiting has many different names.  At our house we use all sorts of various names......hurl, spew, barf, puke, heave, yak, ........to describe this disgusting act.

In our family, we have as many different styles of hurling as we have names. 


Let me start with my husband Mickey.  He is what I would call an Oscar winning barfer.  He is very dramatic.  First he starts by coughing loudly.  Everything he does when he spews is loud.  Then he makes a "Hu Ahh" sound.  (Much like the sound army guys make)  This can actually be heard outside of our house.  I have had this verified by family members and neighbors who typically ask,  "What is that sound coming from your basement?"  The second question is always,  "Is he going to be OK or do we need to dial 911?"

I will say that I am a silent spewer.  Nothing to talk about here.

I have a daughter, Jensine,  that actually talks herself through her hurls.  She will heave once then say,  "Wow that was icky".  Heave again and say, "I sure didn't like that."  Heave again and say, "Can I be done yet."  And on it goes.

One of my daughters, Madisyn got so sick once that she couldn't pull herself up off of the bathroom floor to go to her bedroom so she had to have her fiance Max, drag her into her bedroom. He stayed right by her side and I knew then that he was the one for her since it didn't seem to bother him in the least when she told him she would need some new underwears after that last bout of spewing.  

I saved the best and most entertaining yakker for last.   


My son Ty could win an award for spewing style.  If there were a panel of judges watching him he would receive all 10's.  He has made barfing into an art form.

Ty is 23 now and has never changed his spewing technique thus the perfection of his movements.

The following is my description of Tyler's performance from start to finish.

First, he will find me no matter where I am and announce his upcoming hurl.  He will tell me that he is dying and needs an ambulance before it is too late.


I ignore his need for 911 and just follow him, knowing the best is yet to come.  

He then trots (taking ever so quick and tiny steps) into the bathroom.  

He leans over the toilet with a perfect bend at the waist.  He moans and oh so gradually begins to raise up on tippy toes until he is in a full point.  

Slowly, with amazing fluidity of movement, he will raise his arms straight out from his sides so they are perfectly horizontal to the floor. 

He pauses.......


With his arms extended to perfection, he will begin to flap his hands from the wrists without any movement from his arms at all.   He is a master in action.  


He will flap faster and faster until you actually think he will levitate.  


The big finale.......he hurls.


At this point, each action mentioned above will slowly cease, starting from the last and ending with the first action as his heels slowly rest back onto the floor and he straightens back up at the waist.


It is such an amazing thing to see that you are overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to applaud his performance.


After a performance like that, nothing else can be said.


The End.

Two Lost Kids

My husband was a school teacher and coach until we could no longer make enough money to feed our eight kids.  He was good at it and loved it.  

Would you want to take this many kids
to a 3 hour football game?  Me either.

He taught PE and health and coached high school football and basketball.  Every time he had a game I would load up the eight kids and haul them to his games to be supportive.  I must say that I didn't see much of the games but the kids loved going.

When our two oldest boys and oldest daughter turned the ripe old age of about 8 they became water boys/girl for the football team and got to stand on the sidelines.  They would run out onto the field during timeouts and pass around the water.  This, they considered, was a very big and important job.  To me it meant 3 less kids bugging me during the game

                                                         

One Friday night my husband was coaching a game at a local high school.  I hated going to that high school and not for the reasons you might expect.  I hated going there because the bleachers were the kind that had an opening just below the seats that was big enough for a child to fall through to the ground.  The higher we sat on the bleachers, the farther the fall could be.  I liked to sit at the top of the bleachers so I could see the whole field better.  

So safety wasn't first at this particular game and I chose to sit at the top of the bleachers.  The three oldest kids were being water boys/girl, I had my 3 year old daughter sitting by me and my 1 year old twins on my lap.  Needless to say, I was very busy and nervous about the hole right beneath my seat.

Now I know what you are thinking........that one of my kids fell through the hole in the bleachers but no.

I sat there in those dangerous bleachers and tried to be fun.  I even tried to teach the younger children the finer points of the game.  I pointed out the guy with weird and very tight coaching shorts and said, "Look there's daddy".  I never even realized that Ty and Jens were missing.  

Ty and Jensine

Ty and Jensine are the middle kids and were about 7 years old at the time.  I had ordered them to stay nearby me or at least together and not wander off or fall through the bleacher hole.

They managed one of their tasks.  Surprisingly they didn't fall through the bleachers but they did however, wander off.  I'll be honest, I really didn't notice that they were missing until my neighbor sitting next to me, who was a police officer of the law,  inquired as to their whereabouts.  I calmly answered that they were probably buying something at the concession stand (which is the main reason they attended the games) but that they would pop up eventually.  My children are like homing pigeons.  No matter how many times I lose them they always come home.   

Like any other football game, the announcer continuously gives a play by play of the game.   All the coaches are very serious and bossing all the players.   The football players are serious and grunt and yell a lot while patting other players on the rear end.   Football is a very serious event.  My husband Mickey does not appreciate my shenanigans when he is out on the field coaching and the kids must be serious water boys/girl.  No messing around.  

Jensine and uhh...I can't remember

But this game had a just one little hitch.  Right in the middle of the announcers play by play he paused...............then he said to the entire stadium filled with my husband's students, neighbors, family and friends that he needed to make an announcement.  I thought this is unusual.  They don't usually stop their play by play to make an announcement unless it's halftime or something like that.  The announcer then said,  "I have two missing children.  One's name is Jensine Taylor and the other one............. more pausing................and the other one can't remember his name!"  


Coach Mickey looked up, searched the crowd, shook his head (I thought I saw him pull a crusty aimed at me) and turned back around.  One of the players then patted HIS rear end.  


Mickey should have been thrilled, is the way I look at it.  Someone had just found his two lost kids and he didn't even have to go looking himself. 


I put one twin on each hip, told my 3 year old to hang onto my back pocket and we went to retrieve the lost children from the announcers box.  By the time I had gathered everyone, I decided that we had had enough football for the evening and we went home.


I'm off now to search for one of the twins.  I seem to have lost him but I know that if I can't find him he will return anyway.  They always do.

Wenches and Nether Regions

On occasion I have been known to embarrass myself by saying or doing things that are completely unintentional.  When these situations occur, I feel genuinely shocked about the mortifying thing I just said or did.  I find myself wondering.... "How did that just come out my yap?" or asking myself, "Why did I just do that?"

For example, at my 20 year high school reunion I was seated at a table with Mickey and some former classmates.   My husband Mickey was sitting at my left and an old acquaintance, whom we shall call Bob, was sitting to my right.  

During the table discussion, one of the people sitting across from me asked if anyone had seen or heard from a girl, whom we shall call Marg, who was also a former classmate. 

There was a short pause in the conversation and I piped right up.  I said, "I don't know and don't care cause Marg was a wench in high school".   Now the table went dead silent as I went off about how Marg was so mean to other girls who didn't dress in the proper bell bottoms or have their hair feathered with just the right wingage.  She would belittle those who were a little different or not part her popular crowd.  As I expounded on all of my Marg wisdom, I certainly did not pick up on any of the social cues that were flying my direction from those seated at our table.  I finished my commentary about Marg, took a bite of food from my plate and turned to Bob sitting to the right of me and asked, "So Bob, now who did you marry".  

Without hesitation Bob replied, "Marg".

Just imagine my surprise.  I must say that I'm not anymore graceful getting out of these situations than I am getting into them.  I just stared at Bob and finally came up with the snappy reply of, "Still a wench."

I haven't been to a reunion since.  Maybe I'll shoot for my 70 year reunion in 2049 when we will all be about 90 years of age and either Bob or myself will have dementia, be in a home or 10 feet under.

It's not always the things I say that get me into these rather awkward situations but believe it or not, it is sometimes the things that I do. 

One morning in the early 90's I got up to go to the local gym.  I dragged myself out of bed at 5:30 am to workout at 6 am.  When I got up I didn't want to disturb Mickey so I quietly dressed in the dark, putting on one of my snazzy unitards and my high top Reebocks and then headed out the door.  

For those who don't know or remember, a unitard was a popular piece of workout clothing that cool, aerobic type chicks wore to their workouts in the early nineties.  Mine was all black and much like a leotard but the scoop neck fit just under my boosies.  Therefore,  I wore a tight fitting, cream colored shirt under this unitard with matching cream tights.  I was happenin'. 

When I got to the gym I headed for the stairmaster and hopped on.   After climbing along for a few minutes I started noticing some stares coming my way form the stationary bike section.  Most of the people riding the bikes were men.  I started thinking, "I bet they like my unitard.  I'm dead sexy in my unitard."

The stares kept coming my direction. I was feeling flattered.  When I finished the stairmaster, I walked over to lift some weights and noticed that I still had the attention of the stationary bike section but now I had the attention of the free weight section too.  I was popular that day.

I picked up my weights and started lifting.  As I was lifting I noticed in one of the mirrors surrounding the weights, that something just wasn't quite right in my crotch area.  I squinted into the mirror trying to see what was amiss and noticed that there was a white strip of something stuck to my nether regions.  I thought, "What in the world is that?  Oh my gosh NO!  That looks like a kotex pad there".  

Now I knew I hadn't stuck one there that morning so I nonchalantly moved closer to the mirror to see what the mystery white crotch thing was.  As I got closer and closer I realized that it wasn't a pad but I couldn't figure out just exactly what it was so I kept lifting weights while studying the area in question.

At last it came to me.  I realized that my snazzy black unitard was inside out and the white, cotton crotch panel was clearly showing for all to see. 

I finished my workout since everyone in the gym had already seen the white mystery crotch panel and then went home. 

I'm off now to go workout in good ol' shorts and a t-shirt combo.

Unitards were never a good idea anyway.