The Case of the Hotdog in the Night

I thought giving this blog post a catchy, Nancy Drew-esque title might pique your interest.  Because – really – who wouldn’t be interested in reading…duhnt, duhnt, DUHHHN…THE CASE OF THE HOTDOG IN THE NIGHT.

It all started with a call from my son’s bedroom – oooooh say about 12:30 a.m. – “Mom!  I need you!!!”

What’s interesting about those calls-in-the-night is that you’re immediately up and running.  No thought needed.  It’s instinctive.  Or fear-driven, because you’re worried that an even bigger mess will result if you don’t get there in record time.

And as a side note, I may be on to something here.  I mean, if a burglar broke in to my house, but as he was doing so he shouted, “Mom!  I need you!!!”  I’d meet him at the door with a bucket, a cool cloth and a flat gingerale and then I’d go back to bed while he robbed us blind.  That initial adrenaline rush makes you really, really sleepy.

Anywhoooo.  Back to duhnt, duhnt, DUHHHN…THE CASE OF THE HOTDOG IN THE NIGHT.  What follows is an actual transcript of events after the initial “I need you” call:

SONNY (not actually named Sonny – just called Sonny for blog purposes so as to protect the innocent):  Mom!  I need a bucket!

ME:  Ok, Sweetheart.  I have a bucket; Here it is.  But really, if you’re feeling sick, let’s move this to the bathroom.

SONNY:  No, I just want to sit down for a second WITH the bucket.

ME:  Ok, I’ll sit down too.  [now dozing, slumped over in the chair in his room]

SONNY:  Gaack!!!  GAAAA AACCCCKKKKKKK KKKKKKKK!!!!!

ME:  [now fully awake again]  Oh.  Baby.  Do you think you can move this to the bathroom?!

SONNY:  Mmmffph.   MMMGGGPHHHHACCKK.  GAAAAA AAACKKKK KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!

ME:  Ok.  It’s ok.  You’re ok.  Just let it come up.  But get it in the bucket!  [now “gently” pressing his head-up-to-his-ears back into the bucket]

SONNY:  Mom!  Don’t push my head into the bucket or you’re gonna make me throw up!  GAAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!!

ME: [in my head] Buddy, YOU ARE ALREADY THROWING UP!!!!

Rustle, rustle, rustle.  Hubby arrives on the scene.

ME [to Hubby]:  I told you, A HOTDOG AND A BLIZZARD AFTER THE WRESTLING MATCH WAS A BAAAAD IDEA!!!!!!!! [I can’t stress enough how shrill this ended up sounding.  Because it’s really, really hard to take someone to task while you, yourself, are trying not to puke.  Because let’s be honest.  Hotdogs smell slightly like vomit as they’re going DOWN!  When they come back UP?  Quintissential Puke.]

HUBBY:  No, it was that bowl of cereal you gave him right before bed.

SONNY:  GAAACK!  GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAACCCCCCC CCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK Kkkkkkkkk!!!

ME: Ok, Buddy.  You feel like you can move this to the bathroom now?

shuffle…shuffle…shuffle

ME:  [to husband who somehow is now IN the bathroom watching all of this with big, googly eyes] Don’t just stand there, LIFT UP THE TOILET SEAT!!!

Sonny says a fond farewell to his hotdog a few more times in the toilet and then it’s over.  

I hand the bucket of Quintissential Puke over to Hubby to handle (Hey! Don’t feed the kid rotten hotdogs and icecream at the end of the night or you WILL pay the price)   while Sonny is rinsing his mouth and brushing his teeth.  While this is going on, I head back into Sonny’s bedroom and…IT SMELLS LIKE QUINTISSENTIAL PUKE!  Gaack!!! So I go into bloodhound mode to see where the smell is coming from.  Did I not press Sonny’s head far enough into the bucket and as a result there’s a splatter pattern somewhere?  I sniff all over the bed (what the plan was I don’t know.  To mark the puke splatter with some of my own?!).  Nothing.  I sniff the floor AROUND the bed.  Nothing.  I write it off to the sheer olfactory power of the regurgitated hotdog.  Perhaps it’s just a neumonic smell because doesn’t everyone have a regurgitated hotdog experience somewhere in their youth?!  That puts them “off” of hotdogs for the next 20 years or so??  I’m sure my brother does and I’ll make sure he takes a look at this blog so he can remember the good times.

[Back in the bedroom.  Sonny is feeling FINE and is even “chatty” after some final nose-clearing sneezes.  I don’t want to even THINK about what splatter pattern happened with those.  I have this super power where I block my nose from the inside.  And block my mind from the horror.]

SONNY:  Mom, the thing that was really grossing me out was the CHUNKS of hotdog.

ME:  Yep…………………..yep……………….Mmmffph……….

The one thought that occurred to me as I was going back to bed – the ONE thing – was that if Sonny still wasn’t feeling well in the morning, that would be ok because I didn’t have anywhere else to be in the a.m. and we could both sleep late together.

Ahhhh!!!  The joys of stay at home motherhood!

One thought on “The Case of the Hotdog in the Night

  1. yep, i still remember how those spaghetti-ohs and hot dog chunks looked exactly the same coming up as they did going down…. haven’t eaten a hot dog since.

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