Je suis… malade?

voltee ♦ June 20, 2024 ♦ 1 Comment

Item: Top Designer: PLANET by Lauren G Where Purchased: Thred Up Years Owned: Fourish

Dear Gentle Reader,

We have been apart for far too long.

Ok, yes, so maybe I have been watching a bit of Brigerton lately, but that is not (the only) reason I have been struggling to be consistent with this project that I love. Finding the time is an obstacle. Being able to organize my thoughts is another. A cavalcade of stress and a mountain of depression- these have been large ones. But one of the biggest obstacles is not having a Room of One’s Own. That’s a vital thing for a writer. A space that is theirs and theirs alone. And when one gets to that place, one is already in the correct head space for writing. Or whatever creative pursuits one needs.

I’ve had a few such spaces. A full room at first, and then a corner nook, and sometimes the basement. My needs were few. A computer, speakers for playing music, enough desk for a beverage (usually coffee or wine), privacy, no distractions, little clutter, and peace. These things are all impossible to find in my house these days.

I only have a laptop now, so I’ve been experimenting with writing spots. I was doing some writing in a corner nook in my bedroom, which was lovely when Nate was away! I found that when he is home, even when he is just a snoring lump five feet away, I just can’t get the thing done.

Tonight, though, I think I’ve found the solution! I’m outside. Its wonderful, peaceful, and feels entirely my own. On this night, I feel like I am the only person in this tiny town outside enjoying this gorgeous, although impossibly humid, night. Maybe the whole state. Maybe the world. It feels very indulgent! And will work for many more months!

So. This top. This is a velvety, drapey little thing with the generous cut PLANET is known for. I bought this around pandemic time, when I decided I was going to buy only plain, comfortable, high quality items so I could hang around my house completely relaxed but still chic. This fit the bill nicely. But. The perforated fabric makes it hard for me. It was something I bought online and did not zoom in far enough. The perforations make me think, vaguely, of a football jersey. I’m just not a girl who can feel fashionable in a football jersey, although I acknowledge some do. So I did not wear it as much as I should have.

I did wear it, though, for a shopping trip to Albany with my dear friend Annie. It was about a month or so before my FIRST TRIP TO FRANCE, so I felt justified in searching for some special things to bring.

When I got home, Nate told me I looked great, like I was ready to step onto a plane and head on a journey. I wore it with black joggers and grey and black snake print flats. “You should definitely wear that to France!” he told me. So I listened!

Here’s a fun fact about my husband. He travels, a lot, all over the world, and he has very covetable airline status. Every year, near the end of summer, he realizes that he has not quite flown enough to maintain his covetable status for the next year. “We’re going to _________(insert far off fantasy place)!” Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. This time, he said, “Let’s take the kids to Disneyland Paris!” I scoffed- no, I probally laughed out loud the first time he mentioned it. But somehow, this time, it worked out!

In all my dreams of finally going to France and Paris, there were a couple things I never quite envisioned. The first one being children. Two children, in fact. A five year old and a seven year old, in fact.

The other thing is vomit.

Nope, I definitely never dreamed that my first trip to France would contain such vast quantities of vomit. Mostly from the above mentioned five year old child. But the rest? From me.

The first part of our journey was actually better than I ever dreamed. Nate got a free first class upgrade (why his airline status is covetable), and he gave it to me. So I had my own private lay flat sleep pod, and my husband was bravely taking care of both children- in coach.

I had the time of my life. I was snuggled up in a down blanket with cozy slippers and a few glasses of champagne. I got to watch a movie that had zero animated characters, eat an incredible halibut dinner, and stretch out to sleep with a silky eye mask. Bliss.

“Ma’am?” A hand touched me and I jolted awake. There was a flight attendant standing next to my pod. “Your daughter is sick, and your husband has asked for you.” Bleary eyed and totally confused, I stumbled after her as she took me to a bathroom in the back of the plane. Nate was there with my daughter, who threw up all over Nate and herself. It was like a horror movie.

I felt so awful for my very sleepy, totally miserable girl. Nate told me about what happened while we tried to wash Evie’s long curly hair in the sink, and change her clothes. It was….terrible. We did the best we could, which was admittedly not great, to clean everything up. I cuddled my baby girl for a moment, then we all went back to try to sleep.

Usually, I have a horrible time falling back to sleep after waking up, especially if it’s for such a dramatic reason. But I actually managed to fall back to sleep almost instantly.

I dreamed of peaceful mountains, and babbling brooks, and gentle breezes that definitely did not smell like vomit. And then, of a voice. Not the voice of an angel. The voice I never wanted to hear again. “Ma’am?” A gentle hand on my shoulder jolted me awake, again.

Can you guess? Yep. More vomit. This time it wasn’t as dramatic. Evie basically woke up, threw up into a bag, and went immediately back to sleep.

But this time, I just couldn’t. I can’t remember how many hours I laid there, just not able to do it. I sort of dozed, but did not sleep. And when the plane landed, I felt terrible. Sick? I wasn’t sure. I figured I probably just did not get enough sleep. I felt dizzy, like I should still have been asleep, and unbelievably hot. I waited for my family to disembark, and felt worse and worse by the second. I had to take my cute top off and walk around in a plain black tank. By the time I saw Nate, I told him I thought I might throw up.

“Really?” He asked. “Are you and Evie sick?” I had no idea. We didn’t even have a week to be in France, so I did not want to waste any time being sick. Evie was feeling better, though. She asked to go to the bathroom, and I picked her up to take her- but of course, there was a line. I have a thing with bathroom lines and getting sick, apparently. But that’s another story for another day!

Holding Evie, I started to panic at how slowly the line was moving. I began to get clammy, sweat pouring out of me, my body shaking. I didn’t know what to do. There was just no way around the long line of ladies, and I couldn’t even yell out, “Excuse me, I am going to be violently sick!” Because I had no idea how to say that in French. My only choice was to run out of the bathroom and throw Evie at Nate. “I’m going to puke!” I moaned. And I just slid down to the floor. The coolness of the tiles made me feel a little less like death for a moment, but I just saw no way out of my situation. I was going to vomit in public in the middle of Charles de Gaulle airport, or I was going to die. Just as I started to conclude that death was my only option, a hidden door to the right of me opened and a man walked out of a single stall bathroom. I got to my feet and was in there quicker than I could say “Oui oui!!” And I was going full exorcist before the door even closed behind me.

Instant relief. I will not described what occurred in that single stall bathroom in Charles de Gaulle airport, only just say that since the invention of the vomit, there have been five vomitings that were rated the most violent, the most disgusting. This one left them all behind.

But the relief was very short lived. I looked around the small bathroom and realized that there were no paper towels, nothing to clean up with- except single ply toilet paper. I grabbed a few squares in a hopeful attempt to clean up, but I might as well thrown them in a vat of acid. I wondered briefly if there was someone I could go to for help, or just to let them know there was a clean up needed on aisle Single Stall. But I didn’t know where to start looking. In the end, I simply walked out of the door as quickly as I could, grabbing Nate and whispering “Go! Go! We have to get out of here, right now!!” And as a family, we skedaddled away from my shame and out of the airport.

And because we are Dotsons, and to our family, traveling is like some Olympic Sport, we headed directly to Disneyland Paris, no passing Go, no stopping at our hotel like wimps. Sick mama or not, terrible sleep or not, fun must be had!

Can you see the fun??

What do you think we smelled like???

Not chocolate croissants, I can promise you that.

We never found an explanation for our brief, terrible illness. The most likely culprit we could find was a chicken salad sandwich Evie and I shared at the airport before we left. But who can say?

All I know is that it took me almost two days to recover, while Evie was fine later the same day. And our trip? Incredible! I have more tales to tell from this one. And while I would probably not choose to eat the chicken salad sandwich, if I could go back in time, I have no regrets. Because this is what memories are made of, right?

Vomit? Memories are made of vomit, right?

Well. I’ve said vomit way more that I ever thought I ever would here. I also feel it is is important to apologize to whoever cleaned that Single Stall. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I am so, so sorry. But the most important thing is- the shirt! It has been washed and I promise you could never tell the trauma it has seen. But should I keep her?