Monday, April 8, 2013

Please Don't Read...

...if you have a weak stomach.  Or are eating.  Or are thinking about eating. Or might want to eat sometime again in the near future.

Seriously, you've been warned.


When I was uploading these pictures, I had a whole post planned.  I was going to write about how great of a weekend we our little house on our little street was packed to the gills with family. How all the cousins (minus hoo) were together and how much laughter and chaos and love abounds when that happens.  How FUN it all was.

And how blessed I feel.

I love how God knits families together...whether by blood or marriage or just by an unbreakable bond.

How thankful I am for my sisters.


Our internet has been a bit slow the last few days...probably because there are a bazillion devices all trying desperately to find their little piece of wifi.  I looked through my pictures, started the upload last night and walked to my neighbors house to chat.  That guy that I like so much hadn't moved all day long...he was a fixture at our kitchen table with lots of pencils and lots of scores and only looked up every few hours or so.  Alex was in the shower and Brian, who had eaten everything he could find that wasn't nailed down, was in his room watching a movie.

The above facts are important. 

So I'm sitting at my neighbors, who, if you read way above, know that they are like family to us.  Like, truly family.  We were laughing and catching up when there was a knock on their door.

It was that guy that I like so much...who just said, quietly, "come quick."

"Come quick."

Those two words were the end of my happy, happy weekend.

Let's review a few of the facts before I go on.  

1. Weak stomach?  Stop reading.
2. Middle son in the boys shower.
3. Youngest son who spent the afternoon eating everything in sight.

As I was running home with that guy that I like so much I know what had happened.  Sort of anyway.  I asked if it was Brian and I asked if he threw up.  That guy that I like so much was....speechless.

I should have considered that my warning.

Brian apparently started to feel sick and knew he was going to...puke.  Throw up.  Vomit.  Barf. Hurl.  Whatever you say in your household.  All those words apply here.  Anyway, he stood up and found his bathroom...occupied.

He began to throw up.  He continued to throw up.  He threw up and threw up and threw up.


He threw up in his room.  He threw up in the hallway.  He threw up all over the pile of linens and sleeping bags and pillows that were on the floor by the linen closet following our weekend company.  He ran through my room, throwing up all along the way turning his head from side to side for reasons unbeknownst to me, and into my bathroom, where it took him a bit to find the place where he should be throwing up.


Walls.  Doors.  Baseboards. Floors. 


I cannot even begin to describe what it was like, except to say that over the course of my mothering years I have NEVER seen anything like this.


14 year olds have BIG stomachs.

They hold GALLONS.

It was so bad that I just started to cry, said a few unlady like words, prayed for Jesus to come NOW or to at least send me a guardian angel to clean it up and I then walked back to the front of the house.  I had no clue as to where to begin.

It was BAD.

In the meantime, that guy that I like so much was just standing in the kitchen.  Quietly.  This guy has been in the trenches with me and is a hands on dad...except in cases of vomit.  It's our unwritten rule...I handle vomit; he handles blood. 

I wanted to change the unwritten rule.

So, he's just standing shock, I think.  Alex finishes his shower and notices stuff seeping under the bathroom door....cracks it open, screams and barricades himself inside.  Brian is puking in my bathroom.  I am praying, out loud, arms in the air, for the world to end.  

It took rubber gloves.  And a scarf tied over my face.  And FOUR ROLLS of paper towels.  And TEN beach towels.  A wet vac.  A steam mop.  A vacuum. Baking soda and pine sol and air freshener.  And a whole lotta moaning and groaning and screaming and complaining and tears.

And that was just from me.

Brian, after an hour, was fine.  Empty, if you will.

Our little house on our little street?  Smells...woodsy.  Like pine sol.  And like something you can't quite put your finger on...and don't want to.   



1 comment:

  1. Michele,
    You always make me smile. Your house is beautiful, and so is your family. I had to laugh because we have the same unwritten rule in our house. Hope Brian is feeling better. :-)


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