Do-Overs

I am a huge fan of do-overs.   The fact that they are essentially a custom made up by children only reinforces my belief that this practice needs to be perpetuated into adulthood.  Just think about it – if a concept is so simple that children are able to figure it out without any adult interference, than it must be pretty fundamental to human nature.   

I am not sure at what point in life do-overs become unacceptable; one day you are playing hide-and-go-seek and slip in some mud 2 feet from home base and the fact that you can have a do-over is what makes up for the fact that you just ruined your $80 white Club Monaco sweater (are those even a thing anymore?).   Then the next day you are being introduced to your blog partner’s fiancé and blurt out that he bears a freaky resemblance to James Van Der Beek and your request for a do-over is denied and you find yourself in the market for a new blog partner. Unless your blog partner is Alice.  She totally supports do-overs, along with any other things associated with the eighties, including, but not limited to hair teasing, My Little Ponies iron-on t-shirt decals and (unfortunately) leg warmers.

When you are an Automatic Dumbass a parent do-overs become all the more necessary.  Who wouldn’t want a do-over after the Boston Pizza Diaper Incident or Alice’s Babysitting for Wendy Incident?  To date our blog is basically made up of empirical evidence to support the need of do-overs for parents.  Yet there is one incident that I have only mentioned in passing for which I would officially like to request that the powers at be grant me a do-over. 

You may recall that a few weeks ago in my Home For a Rest post I mentioned that when me and the kids flew home (sans Edward) for our most recent vacation, Prince puked on the plane.  What (for rhythmical purposes) I did not mention in that post was that Prince didn’t just puke into those too-small paper airsick bags from the comfort of his seat.  He didn’t even just puke over me, which wouldn’t have been so awful.  He puked in the aisle of the plane when everyone was trying to get off.  And we were only six rows from the front.  So, to the other 300 passengers who had to hop over a gi-normous puddle of puke in order to exit the aircraft, I would like to formally apologize and request a do-over.



Ok, maybe Prince didn't turn quite
that shade - I just like any excuse to
stare at that dress and try and figure out
how it stays on her boobs.



If I was to be granted this magical second chance I promise that I would do things differently.  For example, when, during our decent, Prince started coughing and turning a pale splotchy -green color reminiscent of JLo’s imfamous barely-there Grammy’s gown I would not decide to hussle his behind off the plane as soon as the seat belt sign turned off in the hopes that we could avoid pukage until we were somewhere with large garbage cans.  I would instead remain seated and allow him to puke all over me in his attempt to aim his vomit in a tiny paper bag, because that would be so much better than having to say “I’m sorry- really sorry; mind the puke” three hundred times as people tried to escape the bile-scented tunnel that had become our plane.

I know that lady with the crutches who gave me the death stare will be a hard sell.  To be fair, she was sitting next to the aisle where Prince lost his lunch (and supper, and airplane snack box) and may have gotten sprayed by the splatter that resulted when the puke hit the floor.  But please remember that I was flying ALONE with two children – one of whom I had to tuck under my arm like a football in order to attempt to drag my puking child back into the seat so he would not puke directly on your broken leg. I did what I could people.  Do not blame an exhausted, disgruntled mother who had spent four hours cooped up in a 3 by 4 foot area with her 1 and 3 year olds for wanting to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

So search the back of your closets, dig out that old Club Monaco sweater and remember how kick-ass do-overs truly are.  And then make sure you take that sweater with you the next time you fly.  Because, if there is one thing you have learned from reading our blog, it’s that you never know when a strange child is going to puke on you.   That, and the fact that apparently telling someone that they look like James Van Der Beek is not a compliment.

-Wendy


(Editor's note from Alice - although Dawson may not have taken it as a compliment, I did! Have you seen JVDB in that Ke$ha video? HAWT!)