Throwing Up Karma

"I'm OK!"

I suppose you could call it karma.

When I was a kid, I was a pretty sickly kid. Every year around Christmas, I would have an asthma attack.

Me being a kid meant I didn't drink the water and warm 7-Up I was supposed to nor did I take medicine well. Oh, and I didn't know what it really meant when my mom told me to "cough it up."

And so, being as congested as I was, there was always the inevitable public puke experience.

I threw up in our local drugstore, in our 1976 Cadillac and on the floor of my kindergarten classroom. Anywhere was fair game until I was old enough to either run to the bathroom or do what I needed to do to alleviate my congested condition.

No matter what, though, my mom was always there, rubbing my back reassuringly and cleaning up after my mess. I always wondered how she could do it – I never thought I'd be capable of that compassion and empathy, particularly because I have a very sensitive olfactory sense.

Well, last night karma paid me a visit at Jasmine Seafood, our favorite Chinese restaurant in San Diego.

We were with our best friends, Bex and Ty, and Ty's parents, enjoying a great meal of shrimp chow mein, choy sum, orange peel beef, and Cantonese style roast duck. Our little daughter, Quinn, had a steamed pork bun, a few pieces of the duck and grapes.

She seemed fine, playing with her newly acquired Handy Manny tools – she brought Rusty the wrench and Pat the hammer – and chattering away, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Then she climbed into my lap, smiled, leaned forward and threw up directly on me – all over my black sweater, gray shirt and jean-clan lap. She actually got a good portion beneath my shirt as well.

I'll let you... uh... digest that.

The good news is: (1) She didn't make that heaving sound, which would have alerted other diners; (2) my nose was terribly stuffed so odor wasn't an issue; and (3) I apparently had little-to-no reaction, other than to lean her forward so Round 2 could be delivered on me as well. Other than a few soiled napkins, most of the damage was on me – there was no "Stand by Me" moment.

I carried her quickly to the bathroom, cleaned up as best we could, made sure she was OK and took her to the car.

The ride home was quick and dirty. Derek drove home while I sat in the backseat, holding Quinn's hand – don't worry about her, she was singing – and shirtless, save for a blanket wrapped around my midsection.

I guess you could call it payback. Heck, it's very likely only the beginning of payback.

The whole experience, however, has heartened me in realizing I'm more like my mom than I thought, and that is a very good thing.

The Christmas Aftermath

We discovered this Christmas that our daughter isn't a hoarder.

She's a blessed child, with grandparents and aunties and uncles (adopted or real) who adore her and send her generous gifts.

Despite a plethora of awesome gifts, Quinn's attention has been focused on the three things she asked for: The Handy Manny Toolbox, Dora's Fiesta Favorites Kitchen and Just Dance 3. (Save for some Nesting Monkeys and a Disney Princess digital camera that captures double chins, bellies and chair legs.)

And while she really digs the latter two, she is hopelessly devoted to Handy Manny's tools.

"Hey, let's show my tools this," she says, trying out a new dance for Just Dance 3. "I want the tools to eat breakfast with me." "Where are my tools?!"

Yes, she's like an OCD carpenter on speed. Well, except she doesn't fix anything. Instead she mocks us repeatedly with the toolbox and its abbreviated Handy Manny theme song. (By the way, the first row of tools actually move around when the song is played and the tools are in the toolbox. It's actually quite frightening if you're unprepared for the action. I was, at around 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve, when I decided it was a good idea to press the button on the box saying, "Try me!")

It was a successful Christmas, nonetheless, with Quinn loving her presents and expressing a true belief that Santa visited her the night before. ("Santa brought me these tools!") That's worth all the Handy Manny Toolboxes in the world.

Beware the Hexen Haus

Nothing says Christmas like a decorated gingerbread house. We bought Trader Joe's version: The Hexen Haus.

Naively, we believed "hexen" may mean "gingerbread."

Alas, we realized it really meant "witch" when we saw an old creepy lady with a cane and two children.

So yes, we made the Hansel & Gretel house. 

Because nothing says Christmas like attempted murder, mayhem and alleged cannibalism. 

Evidence of Just Dance 3 Addiction

'Cause It Goes On and On and On...and It Goes On and On and On

Just Dance 3 – parental torture disguised as a Wii game

Just Dance 3 is going to be the end of my family. My daughter is addicted to it and won't give it up - she insists on playing Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" so much I'm sure it will be the soundtrack to all of my dreams and nightmares - my husband is being pushed to the physical limits with some Japanese song I've never heard, and I'm rocking in the corner with the Black-Eyed Peas' "Pump It" running roughshod over my sanity.

We were supposed to get the Wii game for Quinn's Christmas present. Derek decided instead to give it to her a few days early.

(By the way, the game's a gift from her Uncle Darren, a guy who would never be caught playing Just Dance 1, 2, 3 or Just Dance for Kids. Well, Darren, just you wait. When we see you next, I promise you we will be bringing Just Dance 3 with us.)

The good news is the songs are pretty infectious, energetic and peppy. The bad news is the songs are pretty infectious, energetic and peppy.

The other thing you'll notice is, if you have crappy exercise routine as we do, your arms are going to be shaking the next day.

And if you're even a little competitive, you will definitely be obsessed with the latest version of Just Dance. This one gives you stars, which will earn you presents. At first we thought the "presents" were pretty neat...until we realized they were just the same songs featuring a myriad of different dancers from the other games. They call this the "mash-up," not to be confused with the Glee version in which several songs are mashed together. No, this mash-up features several different styles mashed together to the same irritating songs from the main screen.

OK, look, there are a few songs we really like on the game. There's Katy Perry's "California Gurls" - a song that really needed to be spelled correctly to avoid any implication we Californians can't spell - Gwen Stefani's "What You Waiting For," and a few other fun tunes.

Unfortunately, we're being held hostage by a toddler's taste so Taio Cruz and the BEP are on a continuous loop.

So while we may be dreaming of a White Christmas, our daughter is lightin' it up like it's dynamite.

The First Kid (We Mean "Blog")

Derek and I have been married for more than a decade. It only took us eight years to have our daughter, Quinn, now 2 years and 10 months.

We are clueless as they come when it comes to being parents. Neither of us had any baby experience, and toddlers are an even bigger mystery. As such, we've relied on grandparent advice (semi-trustworthy, if you ask us, considering grandparents are mere shells of the strict parents they once were - seriously... "Why can't she eat M&Ms for lunch?"), familial tips (also semi-trustworthy, thanks to the growing susceptibility around our family to Quinn's cuteness), and random reference books (Dr. Sears, we have a bone to pick with you about co-sleeping).

We've finally decided to start a blog on our experiences and the many ways we've messed up succeeded.

Fittingly, we're starting with Christmas, the holiday of all holidays. The big one. The one day that can make or break you with kids.

And Quinn, being just a breath away from 3, has become all about getting stuff for Christmas. She's even decided to use Santa Claus, the jolly fat man in a red outfit, to help her get that stuff. Last year she screamed her head off when she was just inches from him. This year she jumped on his lap and told him exactly what she wanted.

Hey, Quinn's pretty smart when it comes to getting what she wants, and, unfortunately, dear Kris Kringle is an effective means to her ends.

Thankfully, Quinn has asked for just three things: Dora the Explorer's Fiesta Favorites Kitchen, Handy Manny's Talkin' Toolbox and Just Dance 3, an addiction she's acquired watching us play Just Dance 2.

It's been an interesting time, explaining to most of our family and friends why we're buying tools. It has nothing to do with a toddler addiction to HGTV. Rather, it involves a cartoon Latino handyman named Manny, as voiced by every mother's dream future son-in-law, Wilmer Valderrama.

This year we're hoping the gifts get a lot of play from our kid. Last year's gifts are buried beneath a mound of stuff or were tortured mercilessly throughout the year.

Also up this Christmas are her stocking stuffers, including Play-Doh (this, we worry, will be the end of us - we can barely keep up with cookie cleanup), a couple of new Berenstain Bears books and some other little odds and ends.

We'll let you know if we're successful with this year's offerings. If we're not, well... Failure is not an option, if Quinn knows what's good for her. After all, we're always just a little bit away from doing the Grinch thing and teaching our little Quinny-Who about the true meaning of Christmas, which has absolutely nothing to do with acquisition.