Roommates. They start with your parents and siblings, each teaching you about living with other human beings, some with completely different personalities than yourself. Then you move to college and your roommates are either chosen for you or you choose your own and either live the best years of your life or in a complete nightmare with people you dream of stabbing in their sleep. This same scenario continues into marriage. Then if you're lucky enough, you get little people that teach some fun lessons all their own.
My roommates in college were all unique and incredible in their teaching styles. Each of them educating me in what would become some of my best life lessons.
Let's start with Lindsey. Lindsey was my best friend. She passed away a few years back but she prepared me in 1 year of living with her for living with my Egyptian for the rest of my life. This girl drove a truck. She could change your radiator hose and rotate all 4 tires in less than an hour, by herself. She made roping look like it was easy. She had the best laugh, shared a birthday with me and knew how to have a good time better than anyone I've ever met. But domestication? Well, that was what she learned from me. I once came into the apartment to find a large and luxurious bubble bath having been made out of my dishwasher and since that wasn't big enough, it extended out into using the entire kitchen. I scooped suds off the floor for 2 hours with a mixing bowl while she played in them, happy as a 3 year old on Christmas morning. And because the fun was so great the first time, she did it a second about 3 weeks later. There are no words to describe the irritation. Fast forward about 10 years, "A" would do this too and then tell me "I'm not sure if I used a Tablespoon or a teaspoon". Seriously? How do you not know this?! I Pinterest is the life raft of domestication. I didn't have it when I lived with Lindsey but, Thank God I do now! Add some baking soda to the wash cycle and the suds are kept at bay. Instead of a crisis, we simply have a minor inconvenience but at least the kitchen floor was cleaned.
Then we move to the girls. When I attended K-State, I lived with 4 other girls and most of the time, their boyfriends. I loved living in a house full of people. I loved Desperate Housewives on Monday nights with all the roommates. I loved family dinners on Thursdays. I loved the peace and security of knowing I wasn't alone in the house and there was always someone to talk to or hang out with. I love the memories we made. I love that Skylie taught me how to obsessively clean carpets and also prepared me for having a child who strips down to his underwear the minute we walk in the door. I love that Tara would prepare me for living with someone who has more clothes and shoes than a closet can fit! But today I am eternally grateful for Chandra dating a man who would become her husband, Matt and another girl that lived in the house, Beth.
I'll pre-empt this story by saying that I don't do vomit. Everyone has their "thing" they just. don't. do. For some, it's boogers, for others it's poop. Some, it's blood. For me, it's vomit. I'll do broken bones, boogers, snot, and basically anything else that usually comes out of a boy or a human under the age of 4. But the vomit is a whole other story. I once called "A" when he was in Egypt while dealing with a code red crisis because for whatever reason, I have a child that is completely incapable of making it to the toilet when he has to puke. I'm not sure what age they actually start making it to the toilet for this but Sweet Lord, I am READY FOR THAT DAY! The little man had gotten up, made it all the way through the house and then puked on my bedroom floor, 1 freaking foot from my bathroom. His bathroom is just off HIS bedroom. Nope. Mom's carpet is better. Same as drinking Mom's water becuase "the ice tastes better". Two of the world's greatest mysteries. But at that point, I just couldn't take it. I called "A" all the way in Egypt bawling that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't clean it up. I didn't want to have to. It was just too much! I don't know what I thought he could do from 6,000 miles away but I knew. Oh, I knew that someday he would be back. So after a pep rally, some AC/DC, a gas mask, latex gloves, a sweatsuit that zipped all the way up, sunglasses, looking like a mix between MC Hammer and Dexter and a Spotbot carpet cleaner, I got the job done.
Today was a different story though. Nothing but roommates could've prepared me for my 2:30 AM wake up call today. When we were in college, I woke up to Chandra screaming at Matt after having gone to Aggieville a few hours before. Matt hadn't taken the necessary precautions before going to sleep and woke up, puked in their bed and then went back to sleep. Chandra wakes up realizing what's happened, starts yelling at Matt, so Matt takes the bedspread and throws it ALL in the washer. A for effort, Matty. But then Beth goes in to do her laundry the next morning... I get up for the day, go in to the kitchen and look out the window to find Beth literally hosing the bedspread off with the garden hose and a butter knife. Images that were burned into my mind as a lesson I may need to take note of. I had hoped I wouldn't need this lesson in life but I'm glad now to have it in my Rolodex of memories.
This morning, I'm awakened by a little man coming in and standing by my bed. He doesn't say anything, just stands there. If you're not a parent, I'll just tell you- nothing is creepier than your child doing this one thing. Like, are you going to stab me? Are you sleep walking? What in the actual hell are you doing?! It will scare you to death and in that moment, no matter how hard you try to watch your mouth around these precious little ears, the f-bomb WILL escape your lips along with a string of other words that may or may not make sense. After all, it is 2:30 in the freaking morning and your child has just turned into Chucky. Anyway, I go to touch his arm only to make the situation exponentially worse by him saying "Don't touch me. There's puke everywhere." Oh Bloody Hell. You've got to be kidding me. Naturally as a mother you try your best to console, put the child in the shower, put yourself on auto pilot and go to work as task oriented, not emotional. But in the back of your mind, it's just cussing. Eventually, the smell overcomes you and you just can't do it. SO you go back to college in your mind, ball everything up, throw it in the other shower and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. At this point, I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry. But instead, I made the child go wake "A" up who put new sheets on the bed and tucked the little man in. I started a new load of laundry on the not so disgusting bedding, cancelled all my morning classes for the Chinese kids I teach online because let's be honest- I can only handle 1 three ring circus in a 10 hour period of time and went back to bed, knowing I would have to deal with this...later. I was hoping for never but I recognize I'm not Peter Pan here and I'm all out of pixie dust.
At this point, I begin thinking. 2 diffusers in a 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment just aren't enough. I need more. 3 bottles of thieves essential oil also may not be enough, sure it lasts any household about a year or more of using it every day but this is big. This is a whole lot of gross. 22 ounces of thieves cleaner will clean most of the apartment but probably not all of it because naturally we're dealing with a case of Ebola here, not just vomit. I'm diffusing peppermint in the boy's room but is there something else? Something more I can be doing to make this go away faster? "A" has come back to bed, reads my face and simply says "It's fine. He's ok. You're fine. Shut it down. I'll help you in the morning." Grateful. I am so grateful he's no longer in Egypt. I am grateful for a man that will deal with vomit because on my list of the perfect man, this was number 1. Above being ambitious, money driven, a family man, heart-flutteringly handsome, or my Mary Poppins like match and practically perfect in every way- he just needed to get up in the middle of the night and deal with vomit. I'm a simple girl, what can I say?
And we all sleep. This morning has gone a bit better, movies, cleaning, and laundry, SO much laundry. Garden hoses and butter knives have been incorporated. My house smells better because you know- 3 bottles of thieves. And I have gotten time to myself to actually sit down and write. Obviously that hasn't happened in about a month. SO again, grateful.
I guess the moral of this disgusting story is that life happens. Being a parent is raw, real and not always glorious and filled with happy memories of love and laughter. It's dirty and it makes you question your sanity. Pay attention to the lessons that are being taught by experience when living with roommates in college. You'll relive those lessons later on with smaller versions of those roommates who teach lessons all their own. Be grateful for SO's that get up in the middle of the night and deal with the things you "just can't". That's called balance. And lastly, just know that most of the dirty things in life can be fixed with nothing but a garden hose and a butter knife.
My roommates in college were all unique and incredible in their teaching styles. Each of them educating me in what would become some of my best life lessons.
Let's start with Lindsey. Lindsey was my best friend. She passed away a few years back but she prepared me in 1 year of living with her for living with my Egyptian for the rest of my life. This girl drove a truck. She could change your radiator hose and rotate all 4 tires in less than an hour, by herself. She made roping look like it was easy. She had the best laugh, shared a birthday with me and knew how to have a good time better than anyone I've ever met. But domestication? Well, that was what she learned from me. I once came into the apartment to find a large and luxurious bubble bath having been made out of my dishwasher and since that wasn't big enough, it extended out into using the entire kitchen. I scooped suds off the floor for 2 hours with a mixing bowl while she played in them, happy as a 3 year old on Christmas morning. And because the fun was so great the first time, she did it a second about 3 weeks later. There are no words to describe the irritation. Fast forward about 10 years, "A" would do this too and then tell me "I'm not sure if I used a Tablespoon or a teaspoon". Seriously? How do you not know this?! I Pinterest is the life raft of domestication. I didn't have it when I lived with Lindsey but, Thank God I do now! Add some baking soda to the wash cycle and the suds are kept at bay. Instead of a crisis, we simply have a minor inconvenience but at least the kitchen floor was cleaned.
Then we move to the girls. When I attended K-State, I lived with 4 other girls and most of the time, their boyfriends. I loved living in a house full of people. I loved Desperate Housewives on Monday nights with all the roommates. I loved family dinners on Thursdays. I loved the peace and security of knowing I wasn't alone in the house and there was always someone to talk to or hang out with. I love the memories we made. I love that Skylie taught me how to obsessively clean carpets and also prepared me for having a child who strips down to his underwear the minute we walk in the door. I love that Tara would prepare me for living with someone who has more clothes and shoes than a closet can fit! But today I am eternally grateful for Chandra dating a man who would become her husband, Matt and another girl that lived in the house, Beth.
I'll pre-empt this story by saying that I don't do vomit. Everyone has their "thing" they just. don't. do. For some, it's boogers, for others it's poop. Some, it's blood. For me, it's vomit. I'll do broken bones, boogers, snot, and basically anything else that usually comes out of a boy or a human under the age of 4. But the vomit is a whole other story. I once called "A" when he was in Egypt while dealing with a code red crisis because for whatever reason, I have a child that is completely incapable of making it to the toilet when he has to puke. I'm not sure what age they actually start making it to the toilet for this but Sweet Lord, I am READY FOR THAT DAY! The little man had gotten up, made it all the way through the house and then puked on my bedroom floor, 1 freaking foot from my bathroom. His bathroom is just off HIS bedroom. Nope. Mom's carpet is better. Same as drinking Mom's water becuase "the ice tastes better". Two of the world's greatest mysteries. But at that point, I just couldn't take it. I called "A" all the way in Egypt bawling that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't clean it up. I didn't want to have to. It was just too much! I don't know what I thought he could do from 6,000 miles away but I knew. Oh, I knew that someday he would be back. So after a pep rally, some AC/DC, a gas mask, latex gloves, a sweatsuit that zipped all the way up, sunglasses, looking like a mix between MC Hammer and Dexter and a Spotbot carpet cleaner, I got the job done.
Today was a different story though. Nothing but roommates could've prepared me for my 2:30 AM wake up call today. When we were in college, I woke up to Chandra screaming at Matt after having gone to Aggieville a few hours before. Matt hadn't taken the necessary precautions before going to sleep and woke up, puked in their bed and then went back to sleep. Chandra wakes up realizing what's happened, starts yelling at Matt, so Matt takes the bedspread and throws it ALL in the washer. A for effort, Matty. But then Beth goes in to do her laundry the next morning... I get up for the day, go in to the kitchen and look out the window to find Beth literally hosing the bedspread off with the garden hose and a butter knife. Images that were burned into my mind as a lesson I may need to take note of. I had hoped I wouldn't need this lesson in life but I'm glad now to have it in my Rolodex of memories.
This morning, I'm awakened by a little man coming in and standing by my bed. He doesn't say anything, just stands there. If you're not a parent, I'll just tell you- nothing is creepier than your child doing this one thing. Like, are you going to stab me? Are you sleep walking? What in the actual hell are you doing?! It will scare you to death and in that moment, no matter how hard you try to watch your mouth around these precious little ears, the f-bomb WILL escape your lips along with a string of other words that may or may not make sense. After all, it is 2:30 in the freaking morning and your child has just turned into Chucky. Anyway, I go to touch his arm only to make the situation exponentially worse by him saying "Don't touch me. There's puke everywhere." Oh Bloody Hell. You've got to be kidding me. Naturally as a mother you try your best to console, put the child in the shower, put yourself on auto pilot and go to work as task oriented, not emotional. But in the back of your mind, it's just cussing. Eventually, the smell overcomes you and you just can't do it. SO you go back to college in your mind, ball everything up, throw it in the other shower and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. At this point, I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry. But instead, I made the child go wake "A" up who put new sheets on the bed and tucked the little man in. I started a new load of laundry on the not so disgusting bedding, cancelled all my morning classes for the Chinese kids I teach online because let's be honest- I can only handle 1 three ring circus in a 10 hour period of time and went back to bed, knowing I would have to deal with this...later. I was hoping for never but I recognize I'm not Peter Pan here and I'm all out of pixie dust.
At this point, I begin thinking. 2 diffusers in a 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment just aren't enough. I need more. 3 bottles of thieves essential oil also may not be enough, sure it lasts any household about a year or more of using it every day but this is big. This is a whole lot of gross. 22 ounces of thieves cleaner will clean most of the apartment but probably not all of it because naturally we're dealing with a case of Ebola here, not just vomit. I'm diffusing peppermint in the boy's room but is there something else? Something more I can be doing to make this go away faster? "A" has come back to bed, reads my face and simply says "It's fine. He's ok. You're fine. Shut it down. I'll help you in the morning." Grateful. I am so grateful he's no longer in Egypt. I am grateful for a man that will deal with vomit because on my list of the perfect man, this was number 1. Above being ambitious, money driven, a family man, heart-flutteringly handsome, or my Mary Poppins like match and practically perfect in every way- he just needed to get up in the middle of the night and deal with vomit. I'm a simple girl, what can I say?
And we all sleep. This morning has gone a bit better, movies, cleaning, and laundry, SO much laundry. Garden hoses and butter knives have been incorporated. My house smells better because you know- 3 bottles of thieves. And I have gotten time to myself to actually sit down and write. Obviously that hasn't happened in about a month. SO again, grateful.
I guess the moral of this disgusting story is that life happens. Being a parent is raw, real and not always glorious and filled with happy memories of love and laughter. It's dirty and it makes you question your sanity. Pay attention to the lessons that are being taught by experience when living with roommates in college. You'll relive those lessons later on with smaller versions of those roommates who teach lessons all their own. Be grateful for SO's that get up in the middle of the night and deal with the things you "just can't". That's called balance. And lastly, just know that most of the dirty things in life can be fixed with nothing but a garden hose and a butter knife.
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