When It Rains, It Pours Barf From the Upper Bunk

 I love typing blog posts, you know. It’s way big many muches of fun.

However, it takes some time, and that I don’t have this week…

…now that The Flu has moved in, and we’re all fighting off low-level nausea, the likes of which I last felt when watching Steven Bochco’s Cop Rock back in 1990. Plus, there are the aches, the pains–oh, and in Niblet’s case, the fever and the vomiting all over the bunkbeds at 1 a.m. To his credit, he did manage to earn Yack Points on approximately 100 of his 223 stuffed animals. Score!

The household is feeling like a Little Smokies sausage that’s been left on the counter for about 8 days.


So here’s a quickie, a little vignette that attests, for once and all, to my occasionally-questioned nobility of character:

Last Sunday, I was tromping around the woods with Niblet’s KidSki group, a bunch of preschoolers and kindergarteners on cross-country skis. Mostly, they fall a lot and then lay in the snowbank and eat snow off their gloves. After a few minutes, they look up, a little bewildered, and announce, “I have to pee.”

At any rate, through that crazy coincidence-machine called Fate, it turns out that the 4-year-old son of my husband’s “When Vasectomies Go Bad” doctor is in the KidSki group.

Oh, Little Simon. Look at you pipping along there, swooshing and falling and leaping up and laughing, all things Groom hasn’t been able to do since January 23rd, when he first dropped trou for your daddy, The Scalpel Hacker.

Here comes the part where I’m noble and have good character:

At one point, I was directly behind Little Simon. Holding a ski pole. At right about the level of his future vasectomy.

And I didn’t.

Pole him.

In the “Balzac.”

While shouting the words, “Go home and tell your daddy how that feels, Little Simon!”

Feeling very proud of my restraint–and the fact that it had only taken three other parents tackling me to keep it from happening–

I looked up

and saw, directly in front of me and my ski pole,

the “Balzac” of Little Simon’s daddy, who, breathless and sweaty, had just finished his own ski and had come to retrieve Little Simon from class.




By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. Now that sounds like something that would happen to me. Seems I’m always inserting foot into mouth, or making a gesture at a time not exactly opportune!
    And the use of “Balzac” -stirred up some memories in me. The beloved cat we had here for 16 1/2 years, managed to allow a male cat who floated in and out of the house from time to time to get ultra friendly with her -about 2-3 weeks prior to when she was supposed to get fixed. She had four kittens as a result and one of these, a male (obviously) seemed to be way out of proportion in a specifc department -akin to what your topic was here in this post so my kids and I called him “Balzac.”
    I suppose because I tend to enjoy seeing others get themselves in little jams -like you did with the ski pole -I loved the story in this post. Will most likely snicker a good bit over it too as the vision I can conjure of you and the ski pole and papa-san will no doubt appear in my mind on many occasions today and this evening too. Perhaps longer, who knows.

  2. Well, good you restrained yourself. I’m not sure there is much in the way of interent access in prsion and I’d miss your posts.

  3. You have the best post labels ever.

    I hope the snipped one is up and around soon. I’m not the praying type but I’ll send good vibes aimed at his private bits.

  4. Cleaning up vomit because the dear little one has the flu is way better than cleaning up puke because the dear little 22 year old and his friends came home shitfaced. Something to look forward to!

  5. I couldn’t read this one yesterday because once I saw the title I knew it was not a lunch time kind of read.

    I don’t know that I’d be able to restrain myself. I smacked a kid’s hand today, to his surprise and mine.

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