GERD Master and Sir Dookie Do The Midnight Run

You know how some days you wonder why you bothered to get out of bed at all?  The car won't start, you lose your keys, the kids are cranky, husband looks like he's thinking of checking into a hotel just to get away from the chaos and then somebody makes a smarmy comment like, "Wow, somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed!" when you sound the slightest bit snippity.  Occasionally, the reverse happens and I wonder why I bother to even get in bed.  One of the kids needs water at 3:00 a.m. or claims to hear a 'monster' in the closet at midnight or I slammed that Diet Coke just a little too late and no amount of sheep counting is contributing to my much needed shut-eye....

Last night, it would have been better to avoid sleep, altogether.  If I'd had an inkling of what was coming down the nocturnal pike, I never would have gotten into bed in the first place.  Additionally, I'd sipped wine at Thanksgiving Dinner and the combination of alcohol, carbs and tryptophan from the turkey had nearly put me into a self-induced coma.  I was unconscious within seconds of hitting the pillow.  Then Kevin came to bed and it was game on...don't get any ideas, here....this blog is rated PG and I don't discuss my sex life, anyway.

The massive quantity of food consumed before bed rose up and rebelled in Kevin's digestive tract.  He rolled and moaned and generally woke me up fifteen times.  The last time, he jumped out of bed and grabbed his chest.  I thought he was experiencing a heart attack, not acid reflux.  He slipped back into his jeans and went to find the bottle of Tums while I wondered if I ought to call 9-1-1.  Only, turns out, he wasn't the only  one who'd had a little too much at dinner.  Our dog, unable to get either of us to open the door, had relieved himself in front of it.  First Kevin stepped, barefoot, into a steaming pile, then opened the door.  The door swung open through another steaming pile, smearing feces in a wide arc across the carpeting, and Kevin began to swear.

The bathroom light was flipped on and he was pulling his clothes off as fast as he could, "Shower, must shower, disgusting.  Oh, gross."  Curious as to why my husband was still clutching his chest and standing naked in the shower in the middle of the night, I staggered out of bed.  The smell hit me before anything else.  The trail of smeared poo had been tracked through the bedroom and onto the bathroom floor.  Kevin suggested dealing with it 'in the morning'.  I don't know about you, but the thought of sleeping in a makeshift latrine was unbearable.  Couldn't do it.

Since we were at the inlaws's gi-normous home, I had no flipping idea where to find carpet cleaner and I wasn't about to wake my mom-in-law to ask.  Instead, I searched high and low until I found the Spot Shot and got to work scrubbing carpets.  Kevin emerged from the shower and was assaulted by the stench, which sent him running  right back to the bathroom.  So, there I was, trying desperately to hold onto the contents of my own stomach while cleaning filth off the carpet and listening to Kevin's  noisy attempts to turn his gut inside out into the commode.

By the time I figured out an effective way to clean dog dookie off the underside of the door, aired out the room, and scrubbed my hands raw, which had come in direct contact with said dookie, I was wide awake and my own tummy was rumbling in protest.  I got back into bed just as light was peeking through the blinds in the window.  I wound up playing Bejeweled Blitz on my iTouch until I dozed off....at which point  Sophie tiptoed into the room, poked my arm and said she couldn't sleep anymore.  Who needs sleep, anyway, right?  Kind of overrated if you ask me. 

Happy Thanksgiving...and all that shit.