Noodles, redux… again.

Given the goings on of the past three days at the Ivey house, I thought I’d re-post an oldie, but goodie. Sweet Merrie Cannon was the focus of this first posting. This time, it’s Ben, Abe, Quinn and… well… me.

*****
SHE LOST HER NOODLES

Merrie Cannon is my daughter. She’s 2. She’s the reason I smile most of the time. She’s perfectly “2,” and I couldn’t be more proud… even if she were a boy.

I kid.

Merrie is special. She’s so smart and brave and inquisitive and bright. But she’s just 2, and that means she has a long way to go. A lot to learn. A lot left to do in her life and many more things to endure… like the thing that happened last night.

She got sick.

She had been complaining of a stomach ache for a few hours, but her mother and I kept saying things like: Baby, you’re just hungry. After you eat dinner, you’ll be fine. And, Honey, hush… I know your tummy hurts, but there’s nothing we can do about it right now. Just watch TV.

I think I even muttered, Quit whining, you got to hang out at the park all day, and I had to go to meetings with men in suits and shiny shoes and gelled-back hair and teeth whiter than even the good Lord intended… so, get over it!

Well, she showed us.

After a yelp and a pitiful little cough, Merrie let loose of just about everything she’d consumed over the past week:

Hot dogs, gummy worms, Kool-Aid, green bean casserole, corn chips, vegetable soup, cheese puffs, popcorn, barbecue chicken salad, spaghetti, Lucky Charms, milk, hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, Hamburger Helper, strawberry ice cream and little bits of an almost-digested granola bar.

It was among the most amazing things I have ever seen… and I once saw a one-armed man kayak down the Colorado River at the Grand Canyon! I’m not kidding.

Anyway, Merrie hasn’t had too many vomit-experiences – thank God – so she was almost as stunned as the rest of us. She stood there, hovering over her bile, making “uuuhhh” sounds and motioning for her mother and I to “come here.”

After cleaning the mess, I sat with my sweet child on the couch and she began to complain about her nose…

“It burns, Daddy.”

I knew exactly what she was feeling. I’d been there before. I knew that what my angel was referring to was the acidic remnants that had lodged themselves between the roof of her mouth and her nasal passage. I went to college. I am… “familiar.”

What happened next was all my fault. I know that, and I accept it. But I’m still brought to uncontrollable gagging even now – 27 hours later – just thinking about it.

Me: Baby, you’re gonna have to blow your nose.

Merrie: But I don’t want to… I’ll taste it.

Me: You won’t taste it. It’ll come right out into the Kleenex. Here, just blow… one, two… three!

She blew her nose and immediately started to heave. Her stomach was empty, so she commenced to the ever-miserable “dry heave.” Or so I thought. With a look of fear, disgust and surprise – all at the same time – Merrie stood up straight, took a deep breath and then spit a noodle out of her mouth with such velocity that it stuck right in the middle of my forehead.

I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. It was like a scene from The Matrix, gone wrong. I saw it coming in slow motion. It made 3 full revolutions before slapping me right between the eyes.

She immediately started to laugh, and I fell backwards as if she’d just hit me with a 4×4. The noodle went flying into the air, and – after rolling around on the floor like a man on fire – I was able to regain my composure and “laugh it off” with my little girl.

Merrie Cannon was fine when she woke up this morning. She has been her normal, sweet, smart, brave and inquisitive self all day.

Now, if I could just get her to help me find that noodle…

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