Drizzle, fo rizzle.

Forgive me for the title, but it’s drizzly today. The marine layer is extra thick and low, and when I drove to the Little Kidlet’s school (which is up in the hills), it was very drizzly.

LK was thrilled and danced in the parking lot, shouting “RAIN” to anyone who passed us. I’m sure they think we’re crazy. I know that I think they’re all sticks in the mud.

On the way back to the car, I saw my favorite mom at the private school. I call her Lady Gaga Mom. While her hair isn’t blonde, she certainly tries to steal some of Gaga’s more accessible style. Her hair is always teased, she never wears shoes with a heel lower than 4 inches (she was in 6 inch heels today), and she always wears red lipstick. The parking lot was slick from the drizzle, and there she was teetering in the heels, wearing ultra skinny jeggings with an off the shoulder sheerish top. Never change, Gaga Mom. Never change.

Of course, I needed that sighting to make my day better. It got off to a very rocky start. (You might want to stop here if you don’t want to read an anecdote that involves vomit. And eggs. Egg vomit, really.)

Last night, the Oldest Kidlet woke me up 4 times. We aren’t talking about his coughing waking me up- that happened a few more times. No, we’re talking about him actually coming into my room to wake me up. First, he was thirsty. Then he was afraid of his room. Twice. Then he woke me up to tell me he had to pee. Lovely when they think they need to share this information.

Then. Then came the worst part.

I was aware that the Oldest Kidlet had gone downstairs before I’d gotten up. My mother-in-law was up, and I figured she’d turn on the TV for him so that we could all get ready. She also fixed him breakfast. I got out of the shower and was putting on makeup when my door opened.

“Moooom, I had eggs and then I burped them all over your spot and now I’m leaving a trail of them.”

Ookay. I could see there were eggs on his legs, so I told him to walk into the bathroom and I’d be right there. Then I saw what he meant. There were bits of egg everywhere he’d walked and now, all over my bathroom. I told him to stay put. Walked downstairs (more egg) to the living room where he’d thrown up eggs all over my spot on the couch and covered it up with a blanket.

We divided the tasks- my mother in law cleaned up the stuff downstairs and I cleaned up the upstairs, getting the boys’ clothes for school while I was up there.

Admittedly, it could have been worse. I think, from the story he told us again and again, that he’d eaten and then had a coughing fit which made him vomit (happens me to from time to time). The eggs weren’t really digested so it just looked like he’d spilled eggs everywhere- but they were really tricky to clean up since eggs just break up when you put pressure on them, and they were too wet to really sweep.

So now I’m sitting in my spot on a cushion that isn’t my cushion, and probably won’t eat scrambled eggs for the next decade. That’s my morning. How’s yours?