12:00 midnight, my 13 year old son is standing next to me... Are you shitting me? Why are you awake? (I was startled, I censor around my kids on good days, this was not one of those days).
I threw up, he says. Oh, OK, well do you feel better, now? Get back to bed. No, I didn't make it to the bathroom.Are you shitting me? You're 13!
Go upstairs, see icky icky icky, smell icky icky icky all over his floor, bedding, dust ruffle. Are you shitting me?
Must dismantle his bed- very heavy mattress and box spring to remove vomity bedding. Lift box spring to expose a world of horror. Failing school assignments, tons of candy wrappers and empty soda cans, the long lost "cup" that I painstakingly purchased for him, about 200 Mardis Gras beads(? maybe I don't want to know?), and 23 socks!!! Are you shitting me?
Resolve and vacuum the chunks off the floor and remake bed with clean linens. I get downstairs to see the last 30 seconds of Kathy Griffin on Jimmy Kimmel (my much anticipated event for the night!) Are you shitting me?