When I’m not longer rapping, I want to open up an ice cream parlor and call myself Scoop Dogg. ~ Snoop Dogg
Today, I am thankful for ice cream.
It’s a somewhat odd thing to be thankful for in the middle of November in Maryland, but bear with me because I REALLY NEEDED ice cream today.
Things I am most distinctly NOT thankful for include my reasons for needing said ice cream, and the primary one of them is the stomach virus which has infected my darling little son.
At 3:30 this morning, Sausage awoke with a wail and proceeded to cry hysterically until we went in and found, much to our dismay, that he had thrown up all over himself and his bed. We cleaned him up, changed his bedding, and put him down again.
Then he threw up again.
The whole process repeated three times before we were officially out of clean clothes and sheets, and Loving Husband declared that (since I had to work today — lucky me!) he and Sausage would camp on the couch with a bucket for the rest of the night.
Okay, so we probably should have realized that we were dealing with a full-on, nobody’s-going-to-get-any-sleep-tonight stomach virus before we’d changed the sheets four times, but this was a new experience for us. We were Toddler Stomach Virus virgins until those horribly wee hours this morning.
By the time we had Sausage in bed tonight after a long day of misery, Loving Husband had been doused in vomit several times. Loving Husband’s mother, henceforth to be known as Grandma, is staying with us this weekend and oh-so-luckily managed to get herself covered in bile as well.
I happened to avoid such a fate, because I had rehearsal most of the day, and fell into a nap so deep it was almost a coma as soon as I reached home. Huzzah!
By the time I was awake and interacting with my sad, sick son, most of the vomiting was over.
I say most, because his bedtime included one emergency change of vomit-covered clothing and one, possibly irreparably soaked vanity chair. But I escaped the dousing! Huzzah again!
So anyway, back to the ice cream. I decided, since we’d all had a rather miserable and long day (though my wardrobe suffered less than others, I still include myself there), we deserved to have ice cream from the fantastic artisan creamery* around the corner.
It’s the kind of place where you pay a whole dollar for homemade marshmallows in your hot chocolate, but beneath your griping about prices you know that it’s worth every penny.
I had a hot fudge sundae with one scoop of pumpkin pie ice cream and another of brown bread ice cream. It was unbelievably delicious, the more so because I felt like I had EARNED that mofo.
And now that my stomach is comfortably full of frozen confectionery goodness, I feel a little bit better. Comfort food really does comfort, you know?
But I won’t be giving Sausage any ice cream until I know he’ll keep it down. This stuff is too good to waste.
* Quick note about the place where we obtained this fantastic ice cream. I’m not in any way being compensated for advertising them, though I would gladly work out an ice-cream-for-blog-posts arrangement. The place is called The Charmery, in Baltimore’s Hampden neighborhood. If you go, don’t mention my name, because they won’t know who the hell you’re talking about. But feel free to compensate me for the recommendation by buying me ice cream.