Girl's Night, & I married a less tough version of my dad

Last night I took the girls to Spaghetti Factory for dinner and then to Disney on Ice... They had a great time! Sophie was enchanted by the show - especially, of course, the princesses. Megan had a great time as well. Thank you, thank you for the tickets!!! I have wanted to take them for years to this show, and it was one of those nights that will be a snapshot memory for me - and hopefully for them.

Unfortunately, the rest of my night was not so idyllic.

Sophie woke up at 2am, she'd fallen out of bed - ok, actually she was pushed. For some reason, Megan had decided to sleep on the bottom bunk with Sophie, and in one of her gymnastic sleep moves, she knocked her little sister right out of bed. Once that crisis was resolved, I went back to bed...

Only to be woken up at 4am by a bloodcurdling scream... Megan was throwing up. She doesn't like to throw up, so she needed to let us all know that she was going through this. From 4-6:30, every 1/2 hour she was puking. Poor kid, there wasn't even anything in her stomach, just bile. Too much info? Sorry. But my point is, I'm pretty sure it wasn't anything she ate, but who knows... And I just want to know why is it ME that is on throw up duty? And if the kids get injured (especially if there's blood involved), I'm up to bat as well. Truth is, it's because I did marry a less tough version of my dad. When I was growing up, it was Dad we called when we had a nightmare, Dad we went to if we were going to throw up in the night... John, not so much. I love him, and he's an amazing father/husband, but he gets queasy at the sights/sounds/smells of vomit, gets faint at the sight of needles/blood/stories of bad bone breaks... When my dad shot himself in the toe with a nail gun, the story is that he just got his hammer and used the claw to pull it out with just a grunt. When John witnessed my brother shoot himself in the thumb with a nail gun, he turned the same shade of green as Casey did. I know John's going to think I'm trying to make him look bad, I'm not. It's truly one of the adorable quirks that I LOVE about my man. ...just not at 4 a.m. At 4 in the morning, I want him to be the big strong man that goes and deals with the throwing up. But now that morning is here, and we survived the night, I'll keep him just the way he is.

Needless to say, I'm exhausted. Megan's exhausted. Sophie is tired. Max is devastated that I can't come to class today to be homework mom... Not off to a great start today.

1) ginger ale & saltine crackers
2) great memories & good friends to share those memories with
3) a fabulous husband - even though he's squeamish :) (love you baby!)

***John is concerned that this post makes it look like he does and/or did nothing. That's not true. He did get up at 5am when Megan wanted a blessing, and he did run to the store at 6:45 for ginger ale and saltines. He does get me fountain drinks pretty much whenever I want, and he says that if he shot himself in the foot with a nail gun, he could probably pull it out. However, if it was in someone else's foot, he'd faint dead away...

So, there. A clarification.