Alright…place your bets. Someone couldn’t hold their own this St. Patrick’s Day Weekend. Here’s the setup:
On Friday my wife Kate and I wanted to have a date night for the first time in who knows how long. My folks volunteered to take Max (3 years old) and Dodge (1-year-old) for the night and we happily accepted. We headed over to Hana Cafe for some sushi, sake, conversation, and fun. It was delicious and I have to admit…the yellow tail was fantastic! Afterwards we strolled the streets of Old Town, held hands, and had a nightcap at Public where I enjoyed a lovely Gulden Draak Brouwerij Steenberge. A perfect beer to end a perfect night.
Saturday was the big St. Pat’s Day in Wichita and Kate and I were set on ditching the kids and getting back to our Irish roots. We wanted to party! We hired a sitter, left the kiddies behind, and headed downtown to Heroes for some corned beef & cabbage, bagpipes, beer, and dancing. We kicked things off with a pair of Irish Car Bombs, some 16 oz Bud chasers, and delicious corned beef. We hopped from bar to bar, tossing in a few water rounds, but beer and Jameson reigned supreme. Eventually we ended up back at Heroes where DJ Carbon was spinning and all of Wichita convened. Kate caught the dancing bug and cleared a space on the dance floor to party like she was in her 20’s again…I did my old man dance I’ve done for years with the last beer of the night in hand. Then she shot me a look. “My stomach doesn’t feel so good.” I simply nodded okay, ditched the beer, and we headed out. Would Kate be the one to spill the cookies?
That night Kate made a pizza and we chugged Powerade and water before going to bed. We hadn’t stayed out late…but late enough that we had accumulated a few sets of beads, 2 Guinness top hats, 2 stamps, 2 wrist bracelets, and a nice tipsy saunter. By the time we were on the couch eating pizza the totals for the night were:
- 2 Irish Car Bombs
- 2 1/2 16 oz Buds
- 3 Pints of Draft Beer
- 1 Jameson Shot
Kate’s tally was the same minus 1 pint. Even score. We both went to bed, the room spun, and we held on as awkward beer-induced sleep took us. When Dodge woke up crying a few hours later it was clear…Sunday was going to be rough. My head was throbbing, my stomach ached, and my nose was dry. This was going to be a rough hangover. I popped 2 Advil, tossed a cold wash cloth across my eyes, and went back to bed. Then…it was morning, well…afternoon. The boys had slept in a bit and Kate had been nice enough to let me sleep in. I stumbled downstairs, chugged some water, got tackled by my boys, and fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to have some lunch and play with Max, then we all went upstairs and tucked the boys in for an afternoon nap, and Kate and I settled in for a nap as well.
So far…puke-free weekend. When’s it coming?
After the afternoon naps I was feeling much better and starving for dinner. We dressed the boys and headed out to dinner with my folks per the usual Sunday night tradition. Nothing sounded good…I just wanted lasagna but there was no red sauce pasta special…so I got some beef and noodles dish. My stomach wasn’t stoked, the wine was good but I wasn’t quite ready to dive in, so I ordered a Coke…and it hit the spot! After dinner we tucked the boys in, plunked down on the couch, cuddled up, and got ready for a quiet night full of sleep. Then it happened. Which one of us couldn’t hold their own on St. Pat’s Weekend?
About 10 PM we heard the sound followed by the helpless screams of a 3-year old, “Mommy Daddy…help!” Poor Max. He threw up in bed. I asked him if his tummy hurt and he said it didn’t. His explanation was simple, “I had to cough, I coughed, and then I threw up.” I figured he coughed up a little dinner, gagged, and puked. Parenthood. Fun. Kate and I got him cleaned up, took Muffin, his beloved stuffed bunny, downstairs with the sheets to be washed and tucked him back in with new sheets. He conked out immediately. We decided it was best if we did too. Then it happened again at about 1:30 AM. This time more violently. Clearly not a one-off deal. Max was sick. I rushed him to the bathroom to try to get as much of it contained as possible. He got freaked out by the experience and peed…on me…directly…on me…like all on me. Not like a baby peeing. No. Kid pee. Like a bucket of kid pee all over my legs which were also covered in vomit. Pee. Vomit. Earlier in the day I had poop on me from a diaper change gone wrong. This was my third bodily fluid (not from my body) to grace my skin within a 7 hour window of time. The trifecta of parenting fluids. Toss in some sneeze-boogers, Dodge drooling on me, and the always weird unknown substance and that is 6 different things. They don’t make soap for your memory. We stripped Max’s bed of all stuffed animals, gave him a bucket, and sent him back to sleep.
Between Max being sick and Dodge teething there was no sleep to be had by Kate and I. Today I have my tipsy saunter again but not from shots and beers, but lack of sleep. I’m wearing green but all I see is the back of my eye-lids which I’m fighting to keep open. Max is having a sick-day which means Kate is not getting any work done. Will Kate or I get sick next? Did Max have food poisoning? Will I drink beer tonight? Find out next time on So Long Freedom and ’til then: HAPPY ST. PUKE’S DAY!!!
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