Things nobody tells you...

So, Friday - relaxing, right? A day to maybe swing by happy hour, catch a movie, maybe get some delicious take out. Or not.

Our day began at 7:30, with a "crap! we overslept!" We quickly found clean clothes, showered, took the dog out, and even managed to get Rhys up and dressed in a half hour. A proud moment indeed....until we hit the car. As Hallie is driving, I turn around to play with Rhys a little bit, give him his bottle, and what happens? He pukes. Not one of those little urps that only people without kids get grossed out by. A full on puke. (To all of our friends - I'm sorry. That's just how graphic our lives have gotten!). So now we are both running late, and Hallie doesn't know this fun little tidbit. "Um....honey? Rhys just barfed. Do we have an extra set of clothes?" Long silence. You can guess what the answer was.

So I mercifully get dropped off at work, both happy at having escaped that particular mess, and feeling slightly guilty that I got to go have a bagel and coffee and write some boring brief rather than deal with it. I mentally note to buy Hallie some flowers - or Febreze. My guilty feelings were completely abated the moment I even got in the car to go pick Rhys up from daycare. First, there was traffic. Ok, minor annoyance, whatever. 5 extra minutes to listen to music that is NOT kid friendly. Then, I get to the street Rhys' daycare is on. For those of you not in San Francisco, his daycare is in the Tenderloin district - suffice it to say that an entire season of Cops could probably be filmed in this area in say, oh an 8 hour period (note: his actual daycare is fabulous, and the woman who takes care of him is sweet and caring. She just runs a daycare in a shitty neighborhood).

So I get there, and there is no parking, except for a couple teeny tiny spaces that of course require one to parallel park. I can't. Seriously - I delayed getting my California drivers license because I heard that 1 in 10 people get randomly selected to take the behind the wheel portion of the test, and I was terrified of having to parallel park. I understand the mechanics of it - I saw the episode where Greg teaches Marcia to park inbetween the trash cans. But, I can't do it. I suck at it. Fifteen minutes I spend circling the block, trying to find some space big enough for the damn SUV. And its not even like I have a big SUV. Its just that I can't park my damn medium sized SUV. At which point I start thinking that this is my penance for not taking the bus to pick Rhys up.

I *finally* find a spot, manage to swing myself in enough so that I won't get a ticket, and run, yes run, to Rhys' daycare in an effort to avoid completely pissing off the nice woman who runs it, since I am now ridiculously late picking him up. I get there, he is happy and smiling, and no sign of barf anywhere. Yes! I get him in the carseat, drive home with minimal traffic, and am so very happy that he does not look green. I open the car door to get him out....yep, you guessed it. Puke. Immediately. All over. And the best part? Hallie is off tutoring people for the SAT, and won't be home for 4 freaking hours. Cancel earlier note to self involving flowers. Keep the earlier mental note involving Febreze, and now extend it to me and my poor car.

I manage to extricate Rhys from the carseat, in what I must characterize as nothing short of a fabulous job on my part, since I managed to not get anything else covered in puke. Of course, the fact that he puked EVERYWHERE kind of negates this feat, but I'll pat myself on the back anyways. We get upstairs, take off the now disgusting jacket, and not two damn seconds later, Dodger is whining. Yes, I understand that he has been home for a couple of hours alone, but I've seen that dog hold it for way longer, and today he was just being ridiculous! All I needed was five minutes to situate the child, but now the other child needs my attention too. And, as previously mentioned, Hallie isn't home. Dammit. Bundle Rhys up in clean blanket, grab dog leash and baggies, race outside with dog...who proceeds to take FOREVER. I should have just left him out there with a freaking sports page and come back in 30 minutes. He sniffed all around like it was a place he'd never been before! Really Dodger? Today?!

Dodger finally finishes taking his sweet-ass time, we come back inside, and Rhys both urps and has a really fun diaper all at once - no, I will not go into details because I do at least have some semblance of the concept TMI. Suffice it to say, he went right into the bathub, which tonight he hated (this is the child who is known to play, yes, play in the bathtub for an hour, and who kicks and screams when you take him OUT). He gets out, dries off, I put him in his PJs, and he falls asleep. At 7. Way early. I'm torn between relief, and subsequent guilt at my relief. Of course, he wakes up just as Hallie gets home and dinner is ready. And he smiles and talks, and eats little goldfish crackers (and completely gives us a WTF look as we attempt to fill his bottle with Pedia-Lyte due to his lovely condition), and all of that is just enough to make both of us forget the complete grossness that has been our day.

And oh, did I mention? When I picked Rhys up, I found out that one of the other little boys was sick yesterday. Yep, you guessed it. He puked. Happy Friday.