A disclaimer

Sure, we’re that kombucha-brewing, yogurt-making, got-a-bag-of-table-scraps-in-the-freezer-for-broth-keeping couple you know.

Unless the matriarch is retching uncontrollably, and then it’s all packaged comfort food from here until the end of her tummy troubles. Is it a stomach bug or your garden-variety food poisoning? WHO CARES,THROW OUT EVERYTHING IN THE FRIDGE, IT LOOKS SUSPECT.

{Especially you, mostly-vegetarian root vegetable and kale barley stew. You did not taste great in reverse.}

 Oh, but we only clean with natural products, like baking soda and vinegar…

Did I not just say the mater familias of this operation has been unable to keep her head up for more than 30 minutes at a time? Lysol, baby. Hand sanitizer. Those bleachy wipes. Get them all at Target, my darling. Heaven forbid we all get whatever this is, because THIS is not messing around.

{In retrospect, it was probably the goddamn salmon, which I only ate because it had been open for a while and I hate to see things go waste.}

Oh my goodness, breastfeeding triggers nausea? You’ve got to be kidding me. Thank God there’s milk in the freezer. Give him a bottle. I’m just going continue to yak into this stock pot while I pump, because I don’t think either of us wants to clean this off the baby.

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When the going gets tough, my principles fly out the window and they do so without shame, guilt, or a second thought. Perhaps this is something I ought to work on or perhaps this is just something I need to learn to accept.