For a week with nobody staying home sick, nobody running fever, and nobody really ill, there was a lot of vomit in my life last week.
It started Monday. Kid #1 was acting belligerent before school. So much so that I started threatening to take away toys, radio, video games, etc., until I realized that it would be easier on me if I left all his stuff in his room and removed him. #1 was officially grounded from his room before he left for school. He came home after school in a much better mood, but got a little emotional during his snack when he broached the topic. I thought he was truly penitent, so I caved and let him back in his room. He told me he was going to lie down for a nap, then about an hour later, I heard him shout from his room, “Mom! I just threw up in bed.”
The kid has a loft bed. Not easy to strip sheets, so after I ascertained that no more vomit was imminent, I had him take the sheets off. Partly because I don’t like to climb up there to change sheets, but mostly because I’m a sympathetic puker. Dear, sweet C brought his Trix yogurt-smelling, orange goo-covered sheets and dumped them in the washer for me. I had my t-shirt pulled up over my nose, having assumed my avoid-the-smell pose, and I poked the sheets down in the washer tub, trying not to look at the little bits floating up to the top. I made the mistake of removing my shirt from my nose a little too soon, and caught a whiff.
The gag reflex kicked in. My gag reflex is not a quiet little thing. I started making these weird noises – HWUH! HWUH! – and the girls chimed up from the other room, “Mom, are you ok? Are you throwing up, too?” It’s hard to talk and HWUH at the same time, but I managed to convey the gist of the situation and convinced them I was fine.
No more puke until Friday, then it was just stories about getting sick. Funny how three girlfriends and some margaritas can come up with the strangest topics of conversation. Since we were on the subject of getting sick, I shared my Monday story with them, complete with the HWUH noises. We moved on to more puke stories, and soon Shannon, Zoe, and I were clutching our stomachs because we were laughing so hard.
Saturday afternoon our church had a block party, followed by a FABULOUS barbecue dinner. I was holding Baby K in my lap and she was nibbling off my plate. Beans, mostly. I knew this because she kept dropping them on my lap. She was having a good time talking to my friend Kristin’s baby while she continued eating. I looked down and she had the tip of my piece of brisket in her hand. She giggled when I made a fuss about her stealing the best bite, but we both got back down to the business at hand.
The dinner was in our church’s sanctuary/great room, and there were lots of people chatting, kids running around, and live music. Noisy. I heard a weird noise, but didn’t think anything of it until I felt something warmish on my lap. I looked down and discovered…puke. My sweet, darling, beautiful little monster yakked her dinner on my lap. Kristin asked if Baby K choked on a piece of meat. Sure enough, she didn’t have enough teeth to conquer the chunk of brisket she decided to chomp on.
All I could think about was that scene from the Goonies when the Fratellis are threatening to stick Chunk’s fingers in the blender if he doesn’t tell where the Goonies went. He starts talking about how, one time he made up a container of fake vomit, took it to the movie theater and sat in the balcony. He leaned over the balcony, made a retching sound, and poured the puke out on the people below. They all started getting sick all over each other.
This is what was running through my head as I sat there, fighting the urge to gag. Kristin had grabbed a towel for me from the restroom, so at least I didn’t have to smell it on myself. I stripped K’s bib and pants off, so she was happy as a clam running around in her t-shirt and diaper, looking like a little hillbilly baby.
Aren’t you glad you stopped in for this pukey post?