Last night Scott took Henry and Audrey to the nearby skating rink. Henry came home crying and complaining about a sore stomach (red flag #1). I thought it was because he was hungry and pretty much ignored him telling him to come and have dinner. He then pushed his dinner around his plate and didn't eat a thing (red flag #2). After supper he asked to skip dessert (red flag #3) and lay quietly on the couch in front of the tv (red flag #4, it wasn't Teletoon... he seemed oddly interested in Tracy's woes on Coronation Street). Note to self: stop ignoring your children.
About a half hour later he bolts up on the couch and says "My tummy still..." and projectile vomits around my living room. Thank goodness there are no carpets and we have a leather couch. The smell would never leave. Now here's where things get gross. I mean grosser. Is that even a word? Anyway, my first thought is "GET TO THE BATHROOM!" Bad idea because unfortunately the vomiting still continued as I escorted my puking baby to the toilet. Can I get a "woot!" for the inventor of slippers? Afterwards, I surveyed the damage. Vomit pooled on the couch, splashed on the hallway floor on the way to the toilet, on the bathroom door (the door?), on every little carpet in the bathroom floor and in and around the toilet itself. Good times. And of course the nasty smell of upchuck all over the house.
Scott helped with the cleaning and the livingroom floor got yet another mopping after the 2 Christmas tree incidents. Everything looks and smells back to normal. We even were able to wash Wayne who got a lot of the err... fallout from the first onslaught. Oh, and Henry's fine. He just had indigestion, not a bug.
So counting the 2 disasters with the tree as separate events and the puke fountain as the third, we're quits right? No more disasters before Christmas. Please? I'm so tired.