We were having 10 people over to our house to break the fast. Despite the grand plans that I had hatched to be productive and get a lot of work done, both for my job and around the house, the effects of not eating hit me early and hit me hard. So I ended up passing out on the couch for the better part of the afternoon while the woman I’m now calling WonderWife™ cooked all of the food, ran to the grocery store and cleaned the house.
During his dinner, the Bean could not get enough of Jules’ kugel and had three big pieces. Later when our guests arrived, he put away an entire bagel with cream cheese, another piece of kugel and a piece of chocolate. At least that's the stuff I'm aware of. He was in rare form and was the life of the party, talking with all of our friends, flirting, telling jokes… He wasn't ready to go to sleep when his bedtime rolled around and he started to sob as I tucked him in. We listened over the monitor as his cries escalated into a full blown tantrum. WonderWife™ rushed into his room, knowing what was bound to happen if he didn’t calm down. I remained in the living room, entertaining our guests.
A few minutes later, I peeked around the corner to the bathroom and glimpsed the Bean, sobbing hysterically and WonderWife™ sitting on the toilet lid, trying to comfort him. Between them was a massive puddle of puke. She looked up at me and said, “You probably want to steer clear of here.” I offered to help clean up, but she knew it was an empty promise. My boy and I are very much alike in that when we have full stomachs, it doesn’t take much to send it all back up again. After 24 hours of not
eating, I had gorged myself on Jules’ amazing buffet of comfort food. Rather than have me add to the puddle, WonderWife™ decided the most efficient path to cleanliness was for her to do it herself.
I went back to the party and finished my glass of wine, announcing to the room that my wife is the GREATEST WOMAN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD loud enough that WonderWife™ would be able to hear it. I hoped that this would somewhat ease the obvious fact that I was still boozing it up while she was scrubbing eech off of the bathroom floor.
It wasn’t long before a freshly scrubbed Bean came bounding into the room and promptly told everyone, “I just spit up. There was a lot.” He went on to tell his story in as much detail as he has ever given, blissfully unaware that his audience had just eaten enough food to feed a party double our size.
Then Sprout woke up and started crying. WonderWife™, now finished with the bathroom, had to go in to nurse the baby back to sleep.
Then it was time for the Bean to go to bed. Again. This proved to be difficult because an over-tired toddler with an empty stomach who was actually having fun at a party filled with adults is not an easy person to gently coax into bed.
Then Sprout woke up again. This time it was my turn. However my ace in the hole for getting her to sleep (playing her Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds”) had no effect. I was forced to hand her back to WonderWife™ for more nursing.
Eventually we got both kids to bed in time for us to say goodnight to our guests.
At the end of the evening, WonderWife™ turned back into her mild-mannered alter ego and crashed on the couch while I did the dishes. After all, it’s the least I could do. Right?