I’m starving, but I’m afraid to eat.


Not because I’m afraid of gaining weight. Although my diet has me about 20 pounds lower than I was when I started, woot!


Because I’m afraid I’m going to get the Christmas Fucking Plague that’s systematically working its way through my family right now.


It started with Miss Poopie Pants, and I was nowhere near home at the time. Mr. Sasha and I were two hours south, in Atlantic City, winning some cash on the slot machines, when the puking began.  My mom was here.  I feel a little bad, but not bad enough to not be hugely grateful that I missed the entire episode.  By the time I got home on Monday, she was nearly better. And after a five hour nap, she was all better.


Last night, 2:30am, Drama Queen very dramatically screamed and, very impressively, yakked over the side of her bunk bed.  She didn’t get a speck of it on her or her bed. I must have told her eight times how proud I was of her. I’m not a fan of changing sheets on the freaking top bunk. Especially under duress at 2:30 in the fucking morning.


Needless to say, we were up the rest of the night. She’s a good kid who never misses the barf bucket, so the clean up has been minimal.  Of course, she also gets mean as a fucking snake when she’s sick.  Like, OMG, who IS this child?!


When I told her she can’t go to school tomorrow, she hit me with “Two words, Mommy. GET AWAY FROM ME.”  I told her “That was four words,” ducked and ran out of the room.


She’s got her father’s pitching arm.


Right, so, in the midst of all of this, take a look at the date, minions. FOUR FUCKING DAYS TO CHRISTMAS!


Guess who’s not done shopping? Yeah, this girl.


Guess who’s not going to get to GO shopping anytime soon?  Yeah, me too.


Guess who’s supposed to be hosting the entire Sasha family for Christmas Eve? Yup.


I’m going to take a want-ad out for an elf.  Think the Fat Man can spare one this close to Christmas?