Gag Me with a Spoon … In My Dreams.
You’ve heard of people talking in their sleep, right? Walking? Thanks to Ambien, it’s been alleged that some people even drive in their sleep. Well, have I got a new one for you. My daughter, the beautiful love of my life that she is, has taken her sleepy-time craziness to a whole new level with – get this – sleep vomiting. That’s right. Early-morning earling. Pre-dawn puking. Unconscious upchucking.
The little princess woke up this morning completely grossed out by the puddle the “dog” had left smack dab in the middle of her desk. Mr. Do Right and I had the same confused response to her horrified cries: “How did Guapo [our 6.5 pound Chihuahua] get up to your desk?!” She answered, without missing a beat, “My chair is right there!”
Well, believe me, what was on that desk was more than the entire contents of poor Guapo’s body cavity at any given time. It was looking more and more like our little canine had nothing to do with this messy package. He was an innocent bystander who was oblivious to the plot being built around him.
Just when we were about to accept her explanation for the gastric grossness, we heard the dog bark … from his kennel … in the basement … where he’d been all night. When the princess realized it couldn’t have been the doggie, she gasped at her latest sleepwalking escapade. She cleaned up the mess, all the while shaking her head and retching. Repeatedly.
Now, not that this is relevant at all, but I’ve just gotta put it out there. It’s all Mr. Do Right’s fault. He passed the gene along, marking my children with this affliction. He’s the crazy sleep-talking/sleep-arguing/night terror-having/looking-for-elves-behind-our-headboard bestower of crazy. I simply manage the crazy that surrounds me.
So, dear followers of mine, pray for the future wives and husband of my children, that they may be blessed with patience of Hillary Clinton, the nurturing spirit of the Jolie-Pittses and the wisdom of Dr. Phil. They’ll need it all.
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