The youngest has only gotten sick somewhere other than a toilet or a puke bucket once in his life. When he was a bit older than one, he was taking a nap on his back and made a “puke fountain” for everyone to enjoy. Last night he broke his streak. I had sorted my laundry in the bathroom and had it all piled up. I usually take it downstairs to the wash machine but I got sidetracked talking on the phone and it didn’t make that crucial lap in its laundry journey. My son is in the bathroom sitting on the toilet with a garbage can between his knees and I am confident that I can go to bed. He’ll just grab his puke bucket and head for bed when he is done. I get up this morning my usual joyous self and head for the bathroom. My first step in puke squishes between my toes. EWWWW! So I sit down and fail to look first. I ended up with both ass cheeks cover in puke. Then I look around the room. There is puke everywhere! I think he hit every single piece of dirty laundry in the room! He got the bath mat and even managed to get it under the bath mat. Nice to know the child has talent! Maybe someday this story will become as infamous as his father’s “diarrhea story”!

I get my son situated on the couch with a puke bucket. Being that he is only seven he hasn’t quite mastered “knowing when to hold’em and knowing when to fold’em” so almost every trip to the bathroom ended with him needing new underwear. He used up all the underwear in his drawer but fortunately I had just done laundry and I had some in the laundry basket in the dining room. By now it is about 6 am Saturday and I have had about an hour of sleep total. My youngest is in our only bathroom and the rumbling is starting again. I hear the toilet flush and the call for fresh underwear. I am so thankful until I find out that my oldest got up and slipped in there. Curses!!! I go to retrieve the underwear from the laundry basket when suddenly I have to throw up. The bathroom is occupied so I make the quick mental calculations of which is closer – the puke bucket in the living room or the garbage can in the kitchen. Kitchen wins. So I throw the underwear in my son’s general direction and run. As I am running my socks start to slide across the floor. If I cannot stop I am either going to hit the wall and puke on myself or fall on my ass and puke on myself. Either option isn’t pretty. Fortunately, I stopped in front of the garbage can. I unleash the contents of my stomach and feel a little relief. My oldest son walks into the kitchen blissfully ignorant to what has gone on all night long and says “My brother doesn’t want me to talk about peanuts.” I turn to him, still hugging the garbage can, and tell him that I don’t want him to talk about peanuts either.

I ended up missing the blogger bash. Call me crazy but I didn’t feel pajamas, a bathroom bathrobe (wasn’t that Freudian!) and a puke bucket was proper attire for Panache. Brad and our friend Todd went in my place. I am pretty sure everyone managed well without me. Hopefully next time!

Fortunately everyone is back to school today. I still feel rotten so I am going to take it easy and watch some more Scooby Doo, of course!