Wednesday, May 5, 2010

The Perfect Evening.

Tonight I made the most decadent chicken parmesan for dinner. Seriously. I used a mixture of corn meal and bread crumbs for the breading and then pan fried it just a touch before putting it in the oven to bake. Y'all. It was TASTY. My husband texted me to let me know that he was leaving work, and I smiled at the fact that dinner would be on the table by the time he got home! I picked up the living room, put on some mascara, and smiled with a feeling of wife achievement. Perfect timing, perfect evening, high-fives to Mama.

Naturally, things very shortly went awry.

Cub, who had been playing happily in his room, suddenly toddled into the kitchen with a bewildered look on his face. He grabbed the bottom of my (favorite) maxi dress and started crying. I picked him up and asked him what was wrong and to use his words, but he just bawled. Then he started kicking his legs out, like he used to do when he had gas as an infant, so I asked him if his tummy was ouchie (sorry, that's Baby Speak at our house). He continued crying and kicking without responding, so I carried him into the nursery to rock and console him.

And the contents of his ouchie tummy came hurling forth.

All over the glider. All over the carpet. All over his clothes. All over my dress.


I hoisted him up and kissed his little crying head as I hurried into the bathroom to get the tub going. I'll spare you any gruesome details, but by the time my husband walked in the door, Cub and I were both wrapped in towels, sitting on the toilet, while he slept in my arms. I had puke smeared on my leg and my hair was a mess. Within a matter of ten minutes, my perfect little evening had exploded. Literally.

When my husband asked me what had happened, I pointed to the nursery. He poked his head in there, gagged, and opted to take the baby while I cleaned up. Cub stirred and was more then happy to snuggle with "Dadda". We finally settled at the table, an hour later, to eat lukewarm chewy chicken parmesan. Cub had a bowl of bananas.

Which he promptly threw up a few minutes later.

Another bath. Another change of clothes.

After Cub went to bed, I hugged my husband in the living room, smiled, and exclaimed, "Welcome home!!" and then I apologized that he had to come home to craziness after being at work all day. He said he wasn't bothered by the haphazard evening at all. I appreciated his attitude.

He did get some good cuddle time in with his little man.

Funny how the definition of a "perfect evening" can so quickly change. :)

Have a lovely day.


  1. Poor cub! Hope he feels better.

    Isn't it funny how we worry about having things "perfect" when the Hubby comes home...and really, to them, "perfect" is just BEING home at all with their wife and kids-dinner is just an added bonus. I always try to remind myself of this at the end of stressful days.

  2. Sometimes it's nice for them to get to come home and be the rescuer! Not that I EVER need rescued from any of the chaos around our house... but you know, hypothetically...

    Hope Cub feels better soon!