Adventures in Babysitting

I'm the sort of gal who likes to give the people want they want, and apparently the people who read this blog really want puke stories, so, here we go!
Hubby and I were ahead of the game for a change this past weekend, and we had made plans to go out for dinner with some good friends to celebrate Valentine's Day. Good ol' Gramma was slated to babysit for us, and it seemed that all was right with the world. Unfortunately, Gramma was not feeling well at all, but she was trying to be brave, and not wanting to spoil our evening, she tried to keep it a secret. We figured out just how sick Gramma really was just 30 minutes before we were to meet our friends at the restaurant; it was now decision time. We could cancel, dump the children on their gravely ill grandparent,(and mom, if you're reading this, Hubby was all for that-very compassionate boy you raised there!)or try to find a replacement babysitter who would be free at a moments notice. I called over to my friends house who has not one, but two teenage daughters, and lucky me, one of them was free! I raced over to their house, scooped up the Teenager and raced back home. Having not anticipated someone other than immediate family being in my house, I was very embarrassed that Teenager had a wide eyed view of just how disgusting we all are. The floor was a sticky, gross mess, as were the cupboards. My makeup littered the bathroom counter, toys were all over the floor, and laundry, waiting to be folded, was piled on the couch downstairs. Not pretty. But, we had only 10 minutes to get to where we were going, so I had to shrug it off, and cross my fingers that Teenager would be kind when describing our zoo to her parents later on.
Hubby and I had just gotten settled into our cozy little booth when my cell phone started to ring. I gave an apologetic smile to our friends and answered the phone to hear The Boy say, rather excitedly, "Banshee just puked ALL over the place!!". Normally, I am a very good mother, and concern for my children's health is my number one priority, but here's the order of my thought process just then:
1. Crap. I hope not all over the brand new carpet!
2. Crap. These guys are never going to ask us out to dinner again.
3. Crap. Teenager will never babysit for us again.
4. Crap. I hope she's okay.
The Boy put Banshee on the phone, and she said that felt a lot better getting everything out of her system. Banshee had dipped into the V-day candy after school, and I figured the upset tummy was another case of Banshee over indulgence. Deciding that no one was in immediate peril, we figured we were safe to continue on with our evening. After supper, we all moved down the road to catch a movie not rated G, and halfway through the show, the phone rang, and it was The Boy, even more excited than before. From what I could gather, he had plugged the toilet with paper towel cleaning up Banshee's previous mess, but then Banshee came flying back into the bathroom and puked all over the plunger. (Luckily, Grandpa was available to come and help them out of the mess, but The Boy wasn't too keen on having Grandpa infringe on his alone time with the cute Teenager, pukey little sister not withstanding, so Gramps was quickly shoved out the front door while The Boy cued Barry White on the stereo.) Over the Boy's objections, I stated that we'd be home shortly, feeling the heavy burden of guilt resting comfortably on my shoulders.
At last we were driving down our street when I saw my friends van parked outside my house. Again, normally I am a good mother, but I couldn't help but to think "Great, one more person who now knows how we really live...". Of course I was also concerned about my little Banshee and practically did a tuck and dive roll out of the moving car. As it turns out, Banshee was just run of the mill tummy sick. Poor Teenager just called in her mom for back-up. I sputtered a million apologies to all involved, and got back into the business of being a Mom. I changed from my costume of pretty sweater and high heeled boots with slick hair and lipstick to yoga pants, a hoodie and pigtails; kind of like Superman in reverse. I cuddled with my little invalid, and gave her props for aiming for the bucket and sparing the carpet. She was pretty proud of that, too. We talked until she fell asleep, and then I plopped myself on the couch next to Hubby, where we chatted about the funny parts of the movie and whose steak had been bigger. (Mine was.) So maybe it wasn't the perfect way to celebrate Valentine's Day for most people, but it actually seems fairly appropriate for my family, so I'll take what I can get!