Give and Take

If there is anything true about marriage, it is that there is a lot of give and take. When children enter the scene, that give and take increases; new revelations surface, and you give some tasks away while taking others for yourself.  For example, it became evident fairly quickly that I would be the one to clean up all throw-up-related messes (including my husband's) in the household.  The first time that Jeff was tasked with cleaning up after a sick child, I ended up cleaning up not only the child's mess, but also his.  For whatever reason, along with blessing my husband with incredibly gorgeous hair, an unbelievably patient temperament, and giant, T-Rex legs, God also bestowed upon him one of the most sensitive gag reflexes known to mankind.  The thought, sound or sight of someone about to upchuck sends Jeff's gag reflex into uncontrollable spasms.  When the children occasionally choke at dinner, all that remains of Jeff is a dust cloud from his rapid departure into the bathroom. 

When sick himself, Jeff is very well-intentioned about trying to make it to the bathroom; unfortunately, his gag reflex has rendered that nearly impossible on most occasions (Jeffry's mother has confirmed this fact).    I still remember the first time he surprised me by losing his dinner "on the go" after the very ample consumption of  a chicken casserole.  To this day, I remember the casserole contained tiny, red pimientos.  Those festive flecks ended up brightly decorating our hallway, living room floor, furniture and kitchen.  Granted, we lived in a small space back then, but the projection and splatter radius was impressive--it took me hours to clean. 

After that delightful event, I threatened to murder Jeff with my bare hands if he did it to me again.  And he didn't--the next time, he actually made it to the bathroom.  I was downstairs when I heard a noise that paralyzed my entire body with horror--imagine what you think the exorcism of an entire host of Satan's most vocal demons might sound like.  That sound right there is the closest I can come to describing my husband, tossing his cookies in the acoustically resonant bathroom.  After the paralysis caused from terrified horror faded, I was thrilled that he had actually made it to the bowl. 

So, rather than risk further exorcisms, I am the official go-to girl for throw-up messes at our house.  Gratefully, I have always been around when the kids get sick.  That is, until a few weeks ago.  I was at school when I received a frantic chat line from my husband:  "Can you come home right now?  We have a situation."  With the worst possible scenarios running through my mind, mostly involving Evan and a head injury (if you know Evan, this is a statistically accurate conclusion), I asked what happened. I quote from my actual chat archives his response:   "Evan threw up.  Lots.  I've been trying to clean it up for 30 min.  Every time I approach it I gag like a monster."

Now, am I a bad wife because I audibly chuckled with vindictive glee when I heard the news?  After relishing a moment of satisfaction over his misery, I pondered the situation.  It was actually was quite serious: the end results were all unsavory.  I considered calling in the teacher next door to cover my class while I went home to deal with the situation.  But then I thought, that's absolutely ridiculous.  He's a grown man!  He can do this!  I then sent him my hard-learned advice on how to deal with the mess, and wished him luck.  And by golly, if Jeffry didn't step up to the plate.  He made me proud.  Now, to reciprocate, he has vowed to get me to actually squish a spider in a tissue paper--crunching bones, squirting guts, and the possibility it will escape and crawl with its unnaturally hairy legs into my clothing--without experiencing a full-blown panic attack.  Marriage IS all about give and take, after all.