My Birthday Gift From the Universe

I went to a bar last night to celebrate my birthday.

To appreciate how out of character this is for me, you should know that the last time I went to a bar was probably seven or eight years ago. But it was kind of a miserable day yesterday, what with the pouring rain and the (STILL, FOREVER) snotty children and I really, really wanted to get out of the house. The options around here are pretty limited, so the bar it is. I e-mailed a couple of friends and asked if they could meet me at the bar in the village around 4:30 for a drink.

It was very last minute, and both of these friends have their own three kids each, so getting all three of us there would have been something of a miracle. Turned out one couldn't make it at all and the other couldn't get there until about 7 p.m.

So I put all three kids to bed a little early and left at 7 p.m. I got home at 9 p.m. and the first thing A. told me was that shortly after I left, Charlie vomited all over his bed, and himself.

We had spaghetti for dinner. It was an ugly scene.

Charlie has never thrown up before, and was understandably upset. Hysterical might actually be a better word. But A. and Cubby (who is actually very solicitous and helpful in situations like these) got him and his bed cleaned up and got him back to sleep relatively quickly.

There were no further wake-ups, although he did apparently throw up again a little. I discovered this when I went in this morning to gather up the laundry and found another little puddle on his pillow.

He had to have a bath this morning and I had to scrape a sour-smelling mixture of spaghetti and carrots off his pillow and sheets, but! BUT!

I was not here for the hysteria and vomit-covered three-year-old at 7:15 last night. I could feel guilty about this, but . . . I don't. Instead, I feel relieved and grateful that my friend's schedule meant I was at a bar when the excitement started and I didn't have to deal with the hysteria and second-hand spaghetti all over the bed.

Call it luck. Call it fate. Call it a divine plan. Call it whatever you want, but happy birthday to me.