Slackstress Christmas Menu: Dropped Cake and Regurgitated Shrimp (An Apology for Blowing Off My Blog)

Amnesia. That's it. Amnesia. I got struck by an errant, oversized palm frond ripped down from its high perch by gale force winds here in Southern California, got Amnesia and forgot that I had this blog.

Okay, I lie.

I got stricken with a major case of inertia and lack of motivation. The Slackstres slacks hard.

But I'm back now. Back in my pastel, pin-striped matching jammies set and ankle socks, squatting before the laptop on the cold wooden floor in my empty, quiet living room.

Everyone in the house is asleep with mouths agape and limp limbs akimbo. The only person I've spoken to with my sand paper-y, manly morning voice this morning is the matter-of-fact nurse at the pediatrician's office. Yes, I'm fortunate enough to have a pediatrician group who sees fever stricken, booger encased children six days a week, including Saturdays. Since their services are first come, first served today I'd better rub the sleep from my eyes, pound some stale coffee and rouse the sickies.

Moody Cheeks McGee, 3, is lethargic and feverish. I suspect his ear infection never truly went away. His little sister Pigtail Sprite, 2, coughed all night and early morning as if she puffs two packs of unfiltered Camels a day. Eventually she threw up a long thread of phlegm into her hands. Nice catch, Pigtails.

She ate so much shrimp cocktail (are two year olds even supposed to eat crustaceans at such a tender age and why did I fail to check?) on Christmas Eve that she threw it all up nearly in its original, barely chewed, practically swallowed state. I knew she wasn't sick otherwise because her vomit literally was comprised only of rejected shrimp chunks. In the process, she climbed out of bed, and her own sick, and spied the loot "Santa left" for her and her brothers, including her crowning gift jewel, a pink and purple RadioFlyer tricycle.

"Brudders got scooters?" she asked, half asleep and stinking badly. "An' I gotta new bike? Did Santa be here?"

Two of the munchkins are awake (and breaking into their model airplane kits from "Santa") and my parents-in-law are on their way over to take my sleeping beauty husband out for brunch with his brother.

The pediatrician's is my destination. And, as far as I know, they don't have sparkling Mimosas there, which is a good thing. On Christmas Eve I chucked a few things of my own as well. I tossed back a whole bottle of champagne via bubbly Mimosa after bubbly Mimosa and accidentally dropped the fancy carrot cake my father-in-law graciously brought over straight into the washing machine. At least the cake was certifiably stainlifter clean.

Happy New Year, and try not to launder your dessert.